Duty
by LOTRLover23
Summary: It was a marriage borne out of duty. But could it turn into something more? AU. Chapter 7 is UP!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:**

I don't own anything in this story. Middle-earth and everything in its universe were created by J.R.R. Tolkien, and everything is now owned by Middle-earth Enterprises and New Line Cinema. I DO NOT claim to own anything! For the characters that I thought up I even chose names that he created and it would feel wrong to say I owned those, so I dedicate them to Professor Tolkien, as he inspired their creation.

I do own the original plot. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure he would absolutely hate it, so I would not dishonor the esteemed Professor by presuming to dedicate that part to him.

I also own any grammatical/canonical/spelling/punctuation errors you manage to catch. I wish I could blame somebody else for this one, but it's entirely my fault.

In a nutshell: I AM NOT getting paid or receiving other compensation for writing this story. Don't sue me.

**IMPORTANT:**

The stuff in italics is thoughts.

**Prologue**

"Sire," Methion began, staring determinedly at the map spread on the desk between them, "Dol Guldur has fallen, yet orcs still roam our borders."

_He never was one to mince words,_ Thranduil thought wryly.

"That is to be expected. It shall take time to cleanse the forest of the evil that has long festered within it."

Methion looked up. "My lord, I do not have enough men to defend our people should we be attacked in larger numbers," he said flatly.

Thranduil stood, pushing back his chair a bit too harshly, wood grating against stone. "Why should we be? The Dark Lord is vanquished. The Úlairi have perished, never to return to their stronghold."

"It is merely a precaution, my lord." _Nay. You sense something, though you will not reveal it yet. Not until you are certain._

Thranduil turned, his back to his commander. "What would you have me do?"

Methion sighed softly. "We need an ally, sire. We cannot face this alone."

Thranduil turned back to face the other elf. "Imladris. Lothlórien. Do their alliances mean nothing?"

"Sire, you know well as I that Lord Elrond will soon be leaving these shores, as with the Lady Galadriel. The Elves' time has ended. We stand alone in this fight."

Thranduil stared down at the map, his voice laced with bitterness. "So it is to Men we must turn."

Methion wisely stayed silent.

Thranduil sat down heavily in his ornate throne, the circlet on his brow suddenly an unbearable burden. "Leave me."

Methion rose reluctantly, bowing his leave and closing the heavy door softly behind him.

_Yes, it is to Men we must turn._ Once more his gaze rested on the map in front of him. His eyes moved from Emyn-nu-Fuin South through the forest, past Amon Lanc and to Lothlórien. Fangorn, Isengard, Helm's Deep. Edoras.

_Edoras..._

Rohan, Land of the Horse-lords. It lay nearly directly South of the forest.

His gaze moved further south. Minas Tirith? Nay, Gondor was too weak now for his comfort. The Reunited Kingdom would be busy enough within its own borders. King Elessar, no matter the strength of his friendship with Legolas, would be of no help.

A slight sneer invaded his usually impassive countenance. Yes, it was Rohan to whom he must turn. An alliance must be made. He trusted Methion in this, as he had done for countless centuries.

Rohan. He dug up what little information he remembered about that strange realm from the deep recesses of his mind. Théoden King was dead, he had heard, and his son Théodred gone as well. Éomer, his nephew, was now King of the Riddermark. His sister Éowyn had fought in a battle, slaying-

He straightened, mind whirling with plans. His eyes glinted with a feverish light.

The maiden was not wed yet, not unless it had happened since the last messenger from Gondor.

"Éowyn." He tried the name on his tongue. It felt foreign, rougher somehow. The language was Rohirric, he presumed, coarser, unlike the flowing, musical Elvish tongue.

No matter the price, Eryn Lasgalen must not fall.

He would see to that.

xxx

Legolas was preparing to leave for dinner when a knock sounded softly at his door.

"You may enter."

His father silently walked inside, shutting the door behind him.

"I must speak with you." He sat down gracefully in an armchair, looking thoughtfully at his son for a few moments before proceeding.

"You have heard of what has been happening in the forest. Orcs still roam our borders, attacking our people. For all the Lady Galadriel has done, there are still dark creatures who will not be vanquished for centuries. More and more elves are leaving for Valinor, and fewer and fewer are left to protect our realm. We need a strong ally. We must turn to the race of Men."

He did not like where this was going.

"If we are attacked, Gondor will answer."

"Gondor is too far to be of help. Besides, King Elessar needs every man he can muster to reunite his new kingdom."

_What can he mean?_

He curled his lip in disgust. "As much as I loathe to admit it, Rohan is the strong ally we desire. Meduseld can provide the strength we need to defend our people. But how can we cement such a bond?"

_He is playing with me. But to what end?_

Legolas's answer was slow and careful. "The best way would be a... a marriage." He nearly choked out the last word, finally realizing his father's meaning.

"Yes. You must marry the new King's sister."

_He gets right to the point._

"Éowyn, the Lady of the Shield-arm?"

He could not remember much about the her, except her valor at the Pelennor. They had never spoken, Aragorn having commanded all of her attention while the Three Hunters had traveled through the Riddermark.

"Yes. You must marry her." He seemed to be getting impatient.

"She is mortal." He raised the first objection he could think of, hoping that it was enough.

"She will be gone within a few short years, and then you will be free once more. You have eternity to spend, Legolas. She will not hinder you but for a moment."

"Arranged marriages do not occur between the Eldar and the Edain, Adar." His voice turned desperate.

"The world is changed, Legolas. We must change as well." His voice hardened. "The customs of the Firstborn matter not if we fade into the shadows. I will not let my people die."

_Even if it means sacrificing your son?_

"She would never agree." He knew he was grasping at straws, but he did not want this to proceed. How could he marry a woman like this? It was dishonorable, to say the least.

"I have already spoken with her brother. He has agreed, if the lady has no objections."

_She will not._ Despite what he had said earlier, his heart sank. She was honorable, and she cared as much for her realm as he did for his. She would not refuse her duty.

"Why would he agree?"

"Éomer is shrewd enough, but he was not meant to be king. He knows little of diplomacy."

_He once taught me to exploit my adversary's every weakness._

Thranduil continued on. "He can spare the men, and it is a good marriage for his sister. Having his sister wedded to an elf would provide another strong bond between our races. But you will not be able to give up your immortality for her, so perhaps it is even stronger than that of the King and Queen of Gondor. It could also provide... advantages in certain negotiations."

_He speaks as if we are already wed._

"I must have time to think." That was true, at least. His head was nearly spinning with all that had occurred.

"I expect you to do your duty, Legolas. I know you will do what is right."

_Or what will further your plans to the fullest extent._

Thranduil rose silently and left him, a very different elf in his wake.

xxx

She sat alone on a balcony of the Golden Hall overlooking the golden fields of Rohan, mulling over what had passed in the past months. She was unsure of what was to come, and that unnerved her.

"Sister?" Her brother's soft voice interrupted her thoughts.

She did not respond.

"I must speak with you."

He sat down beside her, seemingly pondering how to begin.

"Do you remember when the Three Hunters came here, to Edoras?"

She nodded mutely. _There is no way I could ever forget._

"There was Lord Aragorn, the Dwarf, Gimli, and the Elf... what was his name?" He was tapping the bench now, beating a rhythm with his fingernails against the cold stone.

_Why is he stalling?_

"Legolas." Her tone was bordering on the impatient, but she didn't care. She had ceased to care about anything a long time ago. She had changed so much in a few short years, and she was nothing like the child she had been. Her brother, not being around to witness or stop it, had become uncomfortable and nervous around her.

"Yes, Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm," he said thoughtfully.

"Please just tell me."

He would get around to his point eventually, but she wanted solitude. The sooner he left, the better.

He took a deep breath before continuing. "Hehasaskedforyourhandinmarriage." The words came out in a rush, and it took a moment for her to decipher his meaning.

"What?" She looked at him in disbelief.

"I said, Prince Legolas has asked to marry you."

"Why?"

_He is an Elf. I am a mere mortal. He is a prince. I am only the king's sister. And he does not love me._

He sighed. "An alliance."

Of course, she had always expected to have to make a political marriage. She would wed some aged lord or another, as her mother had, though she had been lucky; Éomund was not five years the elder. And she had loved him. Her daughter would not be so fortunate in her fate. As a member of the House of Eorl, she did not have that kind of freedom, more so now that Théoden and his son were dead.

Perhaps this chance was better than most. The elf was kind, that she had seen, even if he sometimes appeared arrogant and proud. He needed no heirs, so she would not be forced to share his bed. He was not marrying her for love and would expect nothing in return. She suspected that she could largely be left alone, if she so wished.

_If this is to be my future, it is better than I had hoped._

"Please tell the Prince that I accept."

He looked at her, seemingly surprised at her quick decision.

"Éowyn, do not feel obligated-"

"This is my decision." Her voice turned cold.

"What of the Steward?" _So the rumors have finally reached him._

"We are friends, nothing more." That, at least, was true enough. He may love her, or thought he did, but she knew she could never love him. He was a good man, but he did not see who she really was. To him, she seemed to come out of one of the legends of old, offering a chance at glory, a whisper of great deeds and heroic feats. He loved the mirage projected by her fame, not the maiden inside.

"Very well." He quickly rose and left, leaving her alone to once again ponder what was to come.


	2. Chapter One

First of all, I going to warn you that my Éowyn is the book Éowyn (as I saw her), not the Miranda Otto version. She was OK in the movies, but I think they could have cast her better. And I didn't like how one-dimensional they made the character.

I also must tell you that I hate fast-paced romances. For me, they are too unrealistic. So I'm warning you that there won't be any romance for a long time. But it will come eventually, I promise!

I do, however, want to alleviate some possible confusion: in the prologue Legolas had already returned to Mirkwood after leaving Edoras (from what I can tell, he attended Théoden's funeral), and visiting Fangorn and the Glittering Caves with Gimli, but Éowyn was still in Rohan. (I have changed this from the original post to agree with canon as much as possible; she would not have been in Minas Tirith.) So the prologue was set in late August 3019, and this chapter is set in early October 3019. I'm guessing it would take about a month to travel from Edoras to Mirkwood.

For a disclaimer, please refer to the prologue.

Sorry for the long note. Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter One**

He searched out the forest twilight for his bride-to-be, wondering when she would arrive. It was late, and he worried for her travelling through the forest at night. Never mind that she had been doing so for many days now, and that she had slain the Witch-king of Angmar.

_It always comes back to her part in the battle._ He wondered if anyone had ever bothered to look inside the woman who had slain the wraith. Did she have friends? Or were others always in awe of what she had done, afraid to get too close? Did they fear her, knowing that she had killed, taken lives? Or did they snub her for being so different from other maidens?

His reverie ended when he spotted her emerging from the trees. She was wearing a long white dress and a dark blue mantle with embroidered stars to keep out the chill. She sat erect, her back straight and her head held high. Her hair fluttered in the slight breeze; a golden banner to proclaim her arrival. But her grey eyes were cold, and no flicker of emotion penetrated her mask. He suddenly remembered Aragorn comparing her to a frozen lily: fair, but cold and unfeeling. It was a perfect analogy.

She finally drew near, her entourage trailing behind. She dismounted gracefully off the grey horse, and turned to greet him.

"My lady." He kissed her hand, bowing slightly.

"My lord." She dipped a slight curtsy.

He offered her his arm. "Please come inside."

She took it mutely, nodding at the company that had traveled with her. They were dismissed.

The two guards in front of the door, spears aloft, opened the twin stone slabs, revealing a corridor with torches stretching off into the distance. He could hear her sharp intake of breath, but she seemed to steel herself to walk inside.

And thus they entered the cavern palace of Thranduil, King of the Wood-elves of Northern Mirkwood.

xxx

They walked in silence to the throne room, uncomfortable in each other's presence. She knew she was descending underground, yet the space did not feel like a cave. It was airy enough, and she did not feel as closed in as she had long supposed she would. The smooth corridor suddenly stopped at a door carved with many pictures of the forest beyond. Two more guards, both in full armor, opened it noiselessly, and they stepped into a hall. It was huge, with soaring ceilings and pillars of stone carved as trees ascending skywards, the branches gripping the ceiling and the leaves spreading across it to form a canopy, mimicking the forest. Tapestries lined the walls, and at the end of the hall a throne sat on a dais with an elf sitting regally upon it, seemingly waiting for them.

They stopped before the throne, Legolas bowing to the elf while she curtsied.

It was her first time meeting the Elvenking, and she was curious. He looked like his son, with the same golden hair and gray eyes, but no signs of age clouded his features. They could easily be taken for brothers instead of father and son.

"My daughter." Thranduil greeted her kindly in words, but there was no warmth in his eyes; only a calculating, hard look.

"My lord." Her voice was emotionless, but the coldness of her gaze could easily rival his.

He looked rather taken aback, but spoke. "It is good to have you here at last." He paused for a moment, unflinchingly meeting her gaze.

"Tonight there will be a feast in which your betrothal to my son will be announced. It is the custom of the Firstborn to present their betrothed with silver rings to bind themselves to one another. Legolas will present you with a ring and place it on your finger, and then you will place another on his."

He paused again, searching her for any signs of remorse for what was to come.

"Until tonight, you may make yourself at home. My son will guide you to your rooms. He will arrive to escort you to the celebration when the sun sets."

He said nothing more, but the dismissal was evident.

xxx

Éowyn stepped inside the door to her chambers, closing her eyes and leaning against the cool stone of the wall. The journey had not been especially tiring, but meeting her future husband and his father had been. She reluctantly forced herself from her reverie and decided that she needed to explore her rooms. She realized that she stood in a small corridor with two other doors branching off it, the larger carved wooden door behind her leading out into the rest of the palace.

She opened the door closest to her, encountering what appeared to be a bedroom. It had high, airy ceilings with pillars hewn in the shape of trees, the same as in the throne room, rising up from the floor. The only furniture was a large bed in the middle of the room and a small trunk that she recognized as her own at the foot of it. A canopy of gossamer silk was draped over the bed, making it look as if a sheet of mist floated about it. She sat down heavily on the blanket, delighting in the soft, cloud-like mattress, so much nicer than the one she was used to. She reluctantly rose, sure that if she stayed a moment longer she would fall asleep.

She opened the door leading out of the bedroom back into the corridor and opened the second door, walking into a bathing room, a deep tub carved into the floor. She closed the door and moved to the third room, which had several chairs and a small bookshelf. She ran her fingers over the spines, reading the titles. They were mostly histories of ancient Elvish realms, with accounts of the Fall of Gondolin and the Sack of Nargothrond.

The rooms were obviously feminine, with elegant furnishings carved with delicate leaves and flowers. Hanging lamps made of silver and glass lined the corridor, casting a soft light. The linens were white, but they seemed almost to glow in the light.

A soft knock on the outer door brought her out of her trance. She sighed softly, but turned and hurriedly walked down the corridor to answer it.

xxx

Legolas yanked on his collar, straightening it in front of the mirror. The silvery blue tunic he was wearing was comfortable enough, as with all Elvish garments, but it felt too elaborate after the simple clothes he had grown accustomed to wearing while travelling with the Fellowship.

His door opened softly, and his father entered, sinking down in a chair.

_He is making a habit of entering my chambers unannounced._

"I must speak with you."

He turned away and faced Thranduil, waiting for whatever was to come.

"Tonight, you must do something for me."

_There is nothing more you could ask of me._

He sighed. "Arranged marriages are not common among the Eldar, but one between an Elf and a Man has never before taken place. Besides, our people do not know the real reason for this alliance. They do not even know it is an alliance."

_Is there?_

He paused, seemingly trying to decide how to phrase whatever he would say next. "I need you to act... as if you are in love with her. They need a reason for the union, and we cannot give them the real one."

"But I am not."

"You must. Just talk to her, smile occasionally. It will be easy."

_How can one be merry while sitting next to a statue?_

"She will not respond."

Thranduil shrugged. "She is shy and unused to such large crowds. It only matters that you play your part. The rest will fall into place."

Legolas closed his eyes, resisting the urge to rub his temples.

"I will try."

_But nothing more, after this. You can ask nothing more of me._

xxx

"What color would you like the dress to be, my lady?"

_The engagement has not yet been announced, but already I am being forced to prepare for my wedding._

A seamstress had arrived at her door, wishing to take her measurements and have her decide on the fabric and cut of her wedding gown. It had been another unwelcome reminder of the dwindling number of days before she was to be married.

"White."

"Are you sure? You would look lovely in a deep blue or green."

"I would like it to be white."

"Very well." The seamstress began to look through the soft bolts of fabric, pulling out several and laying them to the side.

"Look at these and tell me which you would prefer me to use."

Éowyn walked over and sat down, fingering the various fabrics. She eventually chose a soft white silk that glowed as if it had been woven from starlight.

"That is a good choice, my lady. It will be lovely. Your prince will be very pleased to see you in it."

_I did not choose it for him._

She picked up the chosen material, and the young male elf who had come with her silently piled up the other bolts of fabric and carried them out the door. "It will be ready in four weeks."

"Do you not have need of several fittings?" No dressmaker in Rohan or Gondor was skilled enough to work without making adjustments.

"No. Your measurements will be enough."

Éowyn nodded mutely at the other woman, dismissing her.

xxx

He walked slowly through the corridors to her rooms, wishing that he had more time. His father's words echoed in his head.

_Just talk with her, smile occasionally. It will be easy._

_Not with this maiden._

All too soon, he stood before her door, and he took a deep breath before reaching up his fist to knock softly. It opened almost immediately, and the White Lady of Rohan stepped out to face him.

She wore another white gown, this one more elaborate. A silver belt with white gems encircled her hips, but her hair was still unbound, cascading in a river of radiant gold down her back.

He offered her his arm, and they walked in silence to the feasting hall.

xxx

They sat next to one another at the head of the table with Thranduil. She ate little, wishing that the whole ordeal was over already.

"The wine is good," Legolas said rather desperately.

She nodded in agreement, though she had not taken a single sip.

She could almost feel his mounting exasperation and annoyance at her silence. He had been trying to make conversation with her for the duration of the feast, but she had said little.

"It is from Dorwinion, a land in the valleys of the Celduin. They produce the finest wines that are known. Their proximity to the Sea of Rhûn and the fertile land of their country have made-"

She slipped away into the peaceful bliss of her thoughts, sure once again that his melodic voice was relaying nothing of importance.

"-of course, ever since King Elessar perished and Gondor was taken over by the Haradrim-"

"_What?_"

He smirked at her, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"I did not think you were listening."

"I was. You were just..." She paused, struggling to remember what he had said, and his smirk only widened. She glared at him, and he laughed merrily.

"Ah, yes. I was speaking of the famous gardens of Dorwinion..."

xxx

Thranduil looked up from his conversation to see his son laughing merrily. Their eyes met, and he was surprised at the genuine mirth in the younger elf's gaze.

_It seems he is taking his task to heart._

He stood up, and the hall fell silent.

xxx

Thranduil motioned to them, and Éowyn sighed inwardly.

_Just get it over with._

They rose and walked to the king, standing facing each other on either side of him so he was visible in the space between their bodies. Thranduil spoke.

"This celebration is in recognition of the betrothal between my son, Prince Legolas, and the Lady Éowyn of Rohan. They shall plight their troth before you."

An elf moved up from behind Thranduil, a box in his grasp. He opened it, revealing two silver rings.

The first was delicate, only a few hair's breadths in width. It looked like a thread of gossamer, shimmering silver in the light. She wondered at the work. How could it be so frail-looking, yet so strong?

_It is so small._

Legolas picked up the band and quickly slipped it onto her hand, his face emotionless, his eyes never meeting hers, so different from his expression moments earlier.

_But it will be all the easier to forget about._

She took the other ring and placed it on his finger.

His was thicker but still simple, also holding no stone. They were beautiful, she had to admit, but she hated the finality of the gesture. They were cementing their betrothal in metal, and metal remembered. There would be no going back.

"We would have a betrothal period of one year," Thranduil continued, "but in circumstances such as these the wedding will commence in one month."

_One month of freedom before everything is taken away._

They sat down again once more, both thinking exactly the same thought, though neither of them knew it.


	3. Chapter Two

This chapter is set in early November 3019. (Not Shire reckoning.)

For a disclaimer, refer to the prologue.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Two**

Éowyn sat limply in one of the chairs, staring at the wall opposite, one thought repeating itself in her mind.

_I am to be married today._

She was completely devoid of emotion, which she knew was somehow horribly wrong. At the very least, she should be frightened and nervous.

But she could not feel anything.

"My lady?" The soft knock on the door broke her from her reverie.

"You may enter."

The seamstress from a few weeks before stepped in, holding a white mass of silk that she presumed to be her wedding gown. A maidservant trailed behind her, probably to help her get dressed.

She rose, and the seamstress motioned for her to go to the bathing room.

"Bathe, then return. I will wait."

xxx

She dried her hair, rubbing it with the towel until it was barely damp. She pulled on a pale gray dressing gown, then walked back into the bedroom. The maidservant motioned for her to remove the robe, then handed a soft silk shift, which she quickly slipped on. The seamstress got up from the bed and motioned for the servant to step outside into the hall.

"I will help her with the gown."

She slipped it over Éowyn's head, and it tumbled gracefully to the floor. She quickly laced up the back, then turned her charge to face the mirror.

Éowyn stared at her reflection for a moment, contemplating her appearance.

The dress was beautiful. It fitted her perfectly, with a slightly scooped neckline that revealed her collarbone. The sleeves were long and fitted, and the skirt brushed the floor and gently trailed behind her as she moved. It was embroidered with a delicate pattern of overlapping leaves in silvery mithril thread, only visible when the light touched them. The dress was beautiful and elegant in its simplicity, as only Elvish garments could be.

She hated it.

It made her look... delicate. It chipped away at her hard exterior, making her seem a bit more like a person and less like a statue. It made her beautiful, almost Elvish in appearance. She knew she was fair, but not as the Elves were. The dress was so skillfully made that she appeared to be one of them.

She did not want to be one of them.

"I hope the prince finds it agreeable." There was a faint note of pride in the other woman's voice.

_She does not know. None of them do._

They did not know that they were not being married because they loved each other.

_Thranduil has not told them._

She wondered if they would treat her differently if they knew. Right now, she was safe as the prince's beloved. She was a mortal, yet they accepted her for his sake. If they knew it was all a lie, what would they do?

xxx

Legolas, unlike his betrothed, was horribly nervous.

_I can stand in front of the Black Gate and face hundreds of thousands of orcs without fear, but I am afraid of a single mortal maiden?_

Thranduil had insisted on a rushed affair, perhaps so that there would be little time for either of them to reconsider. Not that they would have been able. But it had been a very short month, both of them avoiding the other at all costs. She had made it easy enough by staying in her rooms most of the time, but the few words they had exchanged when forced into each others' presence were cold.

He sighed and got up from the chair he was sitting in, heading into his bedchamber.

Laid out on his bed were a set of thick green velvet ceremonial robes. They were probably acutely uncomfortable, and the multitude of gems embroidered onto the material looked about as light as a Mûmak.

"I am _not_ wearing those," he muttered.

_It is bad enough mentally having to go through with this. I refuse to be physically uncomfortable as well._

He pulled out his favorite tunic: a silvery green color, reminiscent of mallorn leaves in the spring, embroidered with mithril leaves. As he pulled on his gray leggings and boots, he glared at the robes. He did not care what his father was going to say, he was not wearing those... those _monstrosities_ to his wedding.

He set the simple silver circlet that designated his rank on his head, taking one last glance in the mirror before setting out to the feasting hall.

xxx

"Daughter?" Thranduil's voice shocked her, and she stiffened at the sound.

_I am not your child, nor will I ever be._

She took a deep breath, composing herself before turning to face him. "Yes?"

He stood in the open doorway, impassively surveying her as she sit at her dressing table.

_Deciding how worthy I am to be his son's bride._

"I will walk you to the feasting hall."

She rose gracefully from her chair, and he offered her his arm.

xxx

They walked through the halls past various servants carrying food and flowers. She was completely rigid at his side, he noted.

"We invited your brother, but he said that he had other pressing business to attend to. He sends his apologies and asks for your forgiveness." He watched her carefully, wanting to see how she reacted.

She did not say anything, her expression as cold and unemotional as ever.

_One would think that she does not care._

"King Elessar and his Queen have come, though they will not be allowed to attend the ceremony. No mortal has ever heard the vows. You will be the first."

Still, she said nothing.

"Gimli the Dwarf could not attend, for he received word too late. The messenger to Erebor was... delayed."

Her silence was beginning to infuriate him, but he controlled himself.

"May I explain the ceremony to you?"

She nodded mutely, still not meeting his gaze.

"You and my son will walk up to a dais, where I will bless you. You will exchange gold rings, and then you may return to the feast."

They stopped in front of the door to the feasting hall, which was open. Many elves were already inside, speaking softly.

"She is supposed to be beautiful, for a mortal woman, though I cannot imagine what made him choose one of the Race of Men, especially one of the Rohirrim-"

"I have heard that she is a great warrior, more of a man than a woman-"

"Can you believe that he chose a mortal-"

"Did you hear of her deeds on the Pelennor? She slayed-"

"Why do you think he fell in love with her? There are so many more eligible elleth of his own kind-"

_At least they do not use the Common Speech._ He wondered what she would do if she knew that they were all speaking of her.

xxx

She stepped into the feasting hall, which had been transformed for the occasion. Tapestries and flowers hung from the walls, and long tables were nearly overflowing with food and wine.

A dais had been set up at the end of the room where green silk, so dark that it was almost black, was draped into a canopy just big enough for three people to fit inside.

Thranduil followed her gaze. "That is where the ceremony will be held."

xxx

Legolas sat to the right of his father's empty throne, impatiently waiting for Thranduil and his bride to arrive. He ran his gaze up and down the walls, noting the flowers and tapestries that had been procured for the occasion.

His wedding.

The thought nearly made him sick, so he tried unsuccessfully to think of something more pleasant.

Suddenly, the murmur of the crowd hushed.

_They are here._

He stood, as did the rest of the hall. Thranduil walked in, Éowyn on his arm.

One hand was laid upon his that of his father's, and the other hand was gripping her skirts, lifting them slightly so she could climb the stairs.

He wondered if anyone else noticed how white her knuckles were.

Her hair was piled on the back of her head, and woven in the mass of gold were tiny white flowers. The gown she wore was beautiful, the white silk glowing as if it had been woven from the stars, the silvery embroidered leaves a subtle nod to her new home. She looked delicate, almost fragile.

If not for the expression on her face, she could have been the most beautiful maiden in the room.

Her eyes were cold and stony, and her features were frozen in a mask that betrayed no emotion, yet somehow looked as icy as the peaks of Caradhras.

He wondered what had been done to make her so unhappy.

She sat down across from him, her cold gaze quickly raking over the crowd assembled in front of him.

He turned his eyes to Thranduil, who had sat down next to him, at the head of the table. His father looked absently at him.

"Where are your robes?" His whisper was quiet, though disapproval laced his tone.

"I did not wish to wear them."

Thankfully, something else attracted his attention and the older elf looked away. "I will speak to you later," he said absently.

_Not if I can help it._

xxx

They ate little, both waiting for Thranduil's command. She pushed her food around her plate with her fork, appetite lost. They did not speak. Finally, Thranduil stood, and they rose as well, walking arm in arm to the dais and stopping under the canopy. They turned, though Legolas kept her hands lightly in his own. She was stiff, flinching away from his touch as much as she was able.

"One month ago, Lady Éowyn of Rohan and my son, Prince Legolas, were betrothed. They now come before you to be wedded."

In a small box there lay two gold rings, identical to the silver ones they now wore, but to the side, a delicate silver circlet lay upon a pillow. She realized it was for her.

_When I become his wife, I will be their princess._

Thranduil spoke. "May Manwë Súlimo and Varda Elentári bear witness to this union, and may Eru Ilúvatar bless it."

At this, Legolas took the silver betrothal ring from her finger and slipped an identical gold ring in place of it. Their eyes never met, and she knew that for the rest of the people, this was an occasion to be celebrated. But she could find no merriment in her heart, and she sensed that Legolas felt the same. She replaced the silver ring on his hand with an identical gold band.

xxx

Legolas looked down at his hand as Éowyn quickly slipped the ring onto it. Her touch was like ice.

_Is it odd that I should fear this ring more than the one we worked so hard to destroy only months ago?_

xxx

Thranduil spoke again. "Now that they are wed, Lady Éowyn is your princess."

He picked up the silver circlet, identical to the one Legolas wore, and placed it on her brow, settling it gently over her hair.

"You will obey her, for she is now my daughter."

They turned to face the onlookers, who were cheering, and Legolas forced a smile at her side.

xxx

After a few more uncomfortable minutes, Thranduil broke the silence. "King Elessar and Queen Arwen are waiting to greet you in their guest chambers. You may go to them."

He nearly sighed in relief. The adoring crowd was grating on his nerves, as was the silent woman beside him. Perhaps Aragorn could offer some distraction.

He quickly got up, grabbing her hand in his haste to leave. "Come."

In his excitement, he did not note the way she froze, her body stiffening at his touch.

xxx

They walked through the door, and Legolas strode in to meet his friend.

"Mellon-nin!"

They clasped wrists in the manner of Elven warriors, and for the first time in a month Éowyn saw Legolas really smile.

"I have missed you."

"As have I."

He looked over at Éowyn, seemingly noticing her for the first time.

"It is good to see you as well, daughter of Éomund." His tone was unsure, as if he did not know what to say to her.

She bowed her head respectfully, though her voice was cold. "My lord." She felt Arwen's gaze on her, and she wondered what Aragorn had told his wife of her.

He turned back to Legolas, and motioned for him to sit down.

"My kingly duties have been more tedious than I ever imagined. I miss roaming the wilds as a Ranger. The Steward has been most helpful, though. If not for Faramir, I could not have come. He is ruling in my stead." He looked over at Éowyn, and she did not miss the unspoken question in his eyes.

_Did you love him?_

She stared back coolly at him, and he looked away.

"I would have you be nearer to me, Legolas. Ithilien needs a lord, and the Elves would be welcome. There is much to rebuild, as the servants of the Dark Lord seem to have destroyed all that is green."

He looked unsure. "I must speak to my father. I am needed here, for now."

Aragorn looked over at Éowyn. "You could be nearer to your brother."

She stayed silent, looking at her lap.

Queen Arwen spoke for the first time, her voice soft and melodious. "I think that Princess Éowyn wishes to retire, my husband. There will be plenty of time to talk on the morrow."

The King of Gondor fixed such a look of adoration on his wife that Éowyn felt as if she were intruding into a private moment between them.

"Of course, my wife."

Legolas reluctantly rose to leave, and Aragorn rose also, embracing his friend.

Aragorn then turned to her, clasping her hand and speaking softly.

"I have wished you joy ever since I first saw you. May that you find bliss, even in circumstances such as these."

She nodded at him coldly, and he looked away. Legolas extended his arm once again, and they left.

xxx

They walked in silence to her rooms, stopping in front of her door.

They stood there, Legolas wondering what he should say and Éowyn when he would leave. Finally, he spoke. "Goodnight, my lady." She nodded and stepped inside her chambers. He heard the soft click of a lock, but then there was only silence.

xxx

If you have read Morgoth's Ring, then you know that my wedding ceremony is slightly different than the norm, mainly pertaining to the vows. The bride's mother and the groom's father are supposed to bless them, but because Éowyn's parents are both dead and she has no appropriate female relative to take Théodwyn's place (and, technically, mortals are not supposed to hear the vows anyway), I let Thranduil perform the entire thing.

And it was supposed to be rushed. All three of them really wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.


	4. Chapter Three

Thank you all for the kind reviews. It makes my day to read your comments.

For a disclaimer, refer to the prologue.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Three**

Aragorn and Legolas sat in the companionable silence that comes between very close friends. The King of Gondor looked over at the elf sitting next to him, who was staring vacantly at the wall opposite, obviously brooding on what had passed.

"You are very lucky, you know. With the unfortunate tendency of the entirety of the female gender to fall at your feet, do you think that any other maiden would not have taken advantage of the situation?"

_It depends on your definition of luck._

Legolas looked thoughtfully over to Aragorn. "Do you think so? Sometimes I wonder."

"What, you would rather have a blushing, simpering elleth who could not keep her hands off you?"

"Not exactly." He grimaced at the thought of what his friend had just described, and Aragorn laughed merrily at his expression.

"You see?"

"Maybe. But still would I not call myself lucky."

"You are. More so then you will ever realize."

They sat in silence for a few more moments.

"Legolas..." He turned and paused, as if wondering what to say. "You may not love each other, but it would be better for you to at least be friends. You are to spend the rest of your days together. Do not let them be as they are now."

He stayed silent for a moment before speaking, his answer noncommittal. "Perhaps."

"Try."

He rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. "Fine. But only to keep you from hounding me for the rest of my days."

Aragorn did not laugh at the jest, instead fixing his gaze on the wall across from their chairs. "She is dear to me, my friend. I brought her pain, and I loathe myself for it."

"Your decision was the right one."

"But I would rather it not have been at the expense of another."

Aragorn's brow furrowed, and his eyes were pained. "She has given up hope. She wished to die, but I brought her back to the world of the living. Maybe I was wrong to save her. She does not deserve this, Legolas." His voice had grown desperate, almost frantic.

"I will try to bring her happiness, such as I can give her." His voice was soft and reassuring, but his heart wondered why his friend was so distraught.

Aragorn turned, reaching over to clasp the elf's shoulder. "I know you will."

xxx

Éowyn opened her eyes, staring at the canopy above her bed, watching the fabric shimmer and ripple as the soft caresses of her breaths reached it.

_The morn after my wedding, and I am yet a maiden._

She did not know whether to cry or rejoice at the thought.

As a child, she had dreamed of falling in love. Only after her parents had died did she realize that it was not to be. She would marry to create an alliance, doomed to a life of waiting on a husband that did not love her, bearing children so that his bloodline would live on. She would turn meek and submissive, no longer wishing for glory and adventure.

But it had not happened as she had imagined. She was married, but did not know what to think. Her husband was an Elf. He needed no heirs. She did not have the freedom she had long wished for, but was closer to it than she had ever thought she would be.

She rolled over, staring at the wall. _I should get ready._

She reluctantly rose, quickly straightening her sheets into some semblance of smoothness. She turned, walking through her little corridor into the bathing room.

xxx

She stepped out of the tub and dried herself off, quickly pulling on a dressing gown. She slowly walked back into her bedroom, only to find the seamstress from the day before doing something with the chest at the end of her bed, another trunk at her side.

"What are you doing?"

The other woman turned. "The King has ordered new garments for you, my lady. The ones you have brought with you have been disposed of. I am repacking your trunk."

"_What?_" She could not believe her ears. He had gotten rid of her clothes, replacing them with new Elvish garments. Without telling her.

She walked over to the bed, sitting heavily down on it, numbly watching the woman transfer the new clothing from one trunk to another. She reached down, brushing her fingers over the fabric of a deep blue dress.

"I will finish for you."

The other woman stood up. "I hope they are suitable." She walked out the door, closing it softly behind her.

Éowyn knelt next to the trunk, closing her eyes. _How_ dare _he?_ Her astonishment was quickly replaced by anger.

True, the fabrics were more finely woven, more rich than any she had ever seen. The silks were as light and soft as a cloud of mist, the wools warmer than a thick fur.

But the clothes she had brought had been a last link to her home, her old life as it had been before her uncle had gone mad. Now they were gone.

Thranduil had not consulted her. It was a little thing, but already she was beginning to dislike him greatly. He controlled everything. The thoughts or desires of others were brushed aside, unheeded. They did not matter. He would have his way.

She opened her eyes, absently reaching over and folding a tunic, placing it on the pile. Her fingers brushed the bottom of the trunk, and she leaned over it, checking for any other garments.

Only a simple gown of black silk lay at the bottom. She picked it up, staring numbly at it. She shivered, and the room seemed to have grown unbearably cold.

_A mourning gown._

Suddenly the room seemed to disappear.

xxx

_It was night. The candle next to her bed flickered, and she stared vacantly at the flame, yearning for dawn to break. She had not slept, her eyes open and staring at the high wooden ceiling of her room throughout the night. Suddenly her ears picked up a slight sound, and her eyes turned to the door. A soft light spilled out from underneath it, becoming stronger and stronger as the seconds passed, as if a light were nearing her chambers. Through the crack she saw black robes trailing across the floor, suddenly stopping in front of the door. They stayed still, and she dared not breathe. Her heart pounded in her ears._

No, no. Please, no.

_The cloth suddenly swished, and she heard the soft pad of leather boots on the stone in the hall. She let out a deep breath, turning over to bury her face in her pillow. Tears silently streamed down her cheeks, soaking the sheet next to her._

xxx

"Lady Éowyn?" A masculine voice broke the spell, and she turned toward the sound. The door stood open, and she saw Legolas standing in the hallway.

"What happened?" He sounded genuinely concerned.

She quickly threw the dress in the trunk, closing the lid. "It was nothing."

She looked down at herself, suddenly aware that she wore only a thin dressing gown. Her eyes widened slightly, and she crossed her arms over her chest. She looked up to find that her husband's cheeks were burning. He quickly averted his gaze, staring at the tapestry on the wall to her right.

"You did not answer, and the door was open. I did not mean..." He trailed off, clearing his throat. "I came to ask you if you would like to go walking. With me. In the forest."

"I will come."

He did not meet her gaze. "I will wait outside in the hallway until you are... dressed." His cheeks blushed further crimson, and he quickly stepped out shut the door behind him.

She sighed softly, turning to the trunk. She opened the lid again, quickly rummaging through the piles of elaborate gowns until she found a simple white dress, then quickly threw off the dressing gown and pulled it on. She suddenly remembered, and she quickly walked into the sitting room. There, a dark blue mantle, embroidered with stars lay draped over one of the chairs. Triumphantly she draped it over her shoulders, taking a deep breath, then pulled open the door to the hallway.

xxx

She had not been outside in weeks, and she did not realize how much she had missed it until she saw the forest. The leaves, shades of red and gold against the cloudy sky, were gently drifting to the forest floor. Squirrels chattered softly, jumping from branch to branch. She breathed in the thick air, closing her eyes. It was very different from the golden plains of Rohan, but it had a beauty of its own.

Legolas touched her arm gently, breaking her reverie. He silently led her to a hidden path among the trees. They walked slowly, silent for a few moments except for the gentle sound of leaves crunching under her feet, the occasional twig snapping. He was only silent presence at her side, his boots making no sound. She had always been quiet, but next to him she felt as if she were the loudest person in all of Arda.

Finally, she broke the silence.

"Where are King Elessar and his wife?"

"They left early this morning. Pressing business arose, and his presence was needed back in Gondor."

"I see." They walked on, not speaking.

xxx

He was normally reserved, but he suddenly felt a need to fill the silence. She unnerved him. With her, it was unnatural, as if the world were holding its breath until she passed.

"Last night, Aragorn spoke of Lord Faramir."

"Yes."

He struggled to find the right words. "He seemed to think that... perhaps... you were... in love with him?"

She stopped, turning quickly to face him. "What?"

"Were you in love with the Steward?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Why do you ask?"

He straightened, eyes hardening. "Please answer the question."

She sighed softly, dropping her gaze. "No. If you must know, I was not."

They resumed walking. "I suppose that he was in love with me, but I did not love him. I let him think that I was. He would have asked me to marry him."

"You led him on." He sounded both shocked and reproving, and she bristled, looking up at him defensively.

"I had to."

"Why?"

"Rohan is not as strong as is believed. I needed to marry someone of importance. Faramir would have provided such an alliance."

"But instead you chose me. Why?" He was curious as to what her answer would be.

"I would not be forced to share your bed."

"Oh," he said softly.

She looked up at him again, tilting her head slightly to the side. "What were you expecting?"

He smiled slightly. "Not that."

They walked on, and he searched his mind for something else to speak of. "That is a new gown."

She visibly straightened, her eyes hardening. "Yes. Your father ordered it for me."

He suddenly recalled a conversation accidentally overheard while walking to the archery fields. The image of her kneeling before the chest, seemingly in a trance, holding up a gown, flashed before his eyes, and the pieces fell into place.

_Adar, what have you done now?_

"I am sorry," he said softly.

"It was not of your doing."

"You should be made to feel at home here, not-" Anger crept into his tone, but he trailed off.

They walked in silence for a few more moments, Legolas wondering if there was any way for him to salvage the situation.

"He was not always like that," he said by way of explanation.

"No?" She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

"He has turned hard and bitter ever since my mother died. He wishes to sail to Valinor to meet her again, but feels that he must stay until the last of his people leave."

They walked in silence for a few more moments before she spoke. "How did she die?"

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, his vision seemed to be covered in a thin veil of mist. He quickly blinked it away and spoke.

"Celebrían was the daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel, Lord and Lady of Lothlórien. She was also the wife of Elrond, Lord of Imladris. My mother was her closest friend. She had travelled to Rivendell to stay there for a time and was returning to Greenwood, with Lady Celebrían as well, who would travel on to Lothlórien."

He paused for a moment, fighting to keep his emotions in check.

"They were waylaid in the Misty Mountains. Their guard was slain, and they themselves were taken captive by Orcs to be tortured for sport. The Sons of Elrond and I searched for them for many weeks. When we finally found them, Lady Celebrían had received a poisoned wound and was taken back to Imladris to be healed by Elrond. She sailed on to Valinor."

His jaw clenched.

"My mother was dead."

There was a moment of silence before she spoke. "What was her name?"

"Emairë."

Again they walked in silence, and Legolas finally forced himself away from his dark thoughts.

"I am sorry," she said softly.

"Thank you."

They did not speak for the rest of the walk, and instead Legolas meditated on the woman walking beside him, stealing a glance at her.

She was so different from her kindred. The people of her country were grave, though not to such an extent. No laughter ever escaped her lips, no smile ever touched her features.

He wondered if once she had been as they were. Maybe her manner was not who she was, but rather what the world had turned her into.

He stole another glance, and was struck by how much she looked as if she was made of marble: a statue of a maiden, fair and cold, unable to escape the stone prison she had erected around herself.

It was then that he decided that he would drive the sorrow from her. He would melt the ice that surrounded her heart. He would heal her.

He had promised Aragorn as much, he belatedly reminded himself. No, it was not her plight that moved him, merely the fulfillment of an oath.

But even he did not believe his words.


	5. Chapter Four

First of all, I would like to say that I have nothing whatsoever against the Éowyn/Faramir pairing in the books. I don't like it in the movies, because I think that they totally ruined Faramir's character by having him be seduced by the Ring (versus "I would not take it even if Minas Tirith were in ruins, and only I could save her") before FINALLY letting Frodo and Sam go in _Osgiliath_ of all places, and I don't exactly like what they did to Éowyn's either (for that rant, check an earlier chapter). So this is more of a movie pairing, but I don't like writing movie-verse and don't like the Éowyn in the movie, I wrote it to the books. Except that my Legolas looks like Orlando Bloom's Legolas, because after his stunning portrayal in the film trilogy I can't even remember what imagined him to look like when I first read the books. But he has the personality I saw in the books, and only carries one knife, as did the original Legolas. And grey eyes, because it about 99% of Middle-earth's population has grey eyes, so in all probability his would most likely be grey, especially if he had a Silvan mother (which he does in this story.) So it's sort of half-movie, half-books, except with more books than movie.

That made absolutely no sense. I seem to have a penchant for long author's notes. Sorry.

For a disclaimer, refer to the prologue.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Four**

Legolas slowly walked back through the halls to his rooms, thinking on their long conversation. There was something important, something that he needed to remember. It hovered just out of reach, tantalizingly close, yet so far away at the same time.

He stopped, suddenly remembering her words.

_Rohan is not as strong as is believed._

_Oh, no. No. This cannot be._

He leaned against the wall, his forehead pressing against the cool stone.

_Adar, you misjudged the situation, and I have payed the price. Was this all for naught?_

xxx

Éowyn sat in one of the chairs in her little sitting room, trying to read one of the books she had found on the shelf. But her mind was elsewhere, and she finally slammed it shut. She could not focus on the Ruin of Doriath, not when her head was whirling.

_He made me talk. Why did I speak so much? Not for months, nay, years have I let so many words pass my lips._

He was pleasant company, she had to admit. But she hated that he had been able to force so much from her in so little time.

_Will I be able to keep anything to myself anymore? Will he be able to lay all my thoughts bare, to look though at his leisure?_

She buried her face in her hands. _This will be harder than I ever imagined._

xxx

A day passed, and she did not leave her rooms. She was absent from the feasting hall, and her meals were sent up to her room. He did not want to admit it, but he was getting somewhat worried. And so when he found himself in the hall passing her chambers the next morning, he knocked.

Éowyn opened the door. If she was surprised to see him, she did not show it.

"What do you want?" Her voice held its usual frosty tone, though it seemed colder than usual.

"I was wondering if you would like to go... riding with me. In the forest."

"Now?"

"Yes."

She sighed, but so softly that he could barely hear it. "I will be out in five minutes."

xxx

She closed the door, resisting the urge to slam it shut. _He cannot leave me alone. Why?_

But she could not refuse him. She was his wife. It was her duty to do as he commanded. That much had been drilled into her since she was a child.

So she went to the trunk, rummaging through the new clothes until she found a misty gray tunic and leggings, made in the Elvish style. They fitted her perfectly, but she still had a complete range of movement, for which she was grateful. She found a pair of boots, the soft leather etched to look like leaves. They were molded to her legs, reaching almost to her knees. She quickly bound her hair in a braid and left.

xxx

They walked quickly through the stone halls, and Legolas finally spoke. "Your horse is in a paddock above ground, as is mine."

She did not answer, instead staring at the doors ahead. They were opened by the pair of guards standing on either side, and she stepped out ahead of him, turning to wait for him to come through.

He led her to a hidden trail leading off into the trees. They walked single file for a few moments, finally emerging into a clearing where many horses were grazing in a meadow. A tall gray steed trotted over to her, nuzzling into her shoulder.

"Windfola," she whispered. "How I have missed you." The mare nickered softly in response as she buried her face in its warm coat.

When she was near the horses, she felt so _free_. Riding had been her only escape in the bleak years of her uncle's bewitchment. Being near her horse made her feel younger, like she was a child again, with no worries, no memories to haunt her. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, even if only for a short time.

She pulled away, looking over at Legolas, who had found his own steed, Arod.

"Where is my tack?"

He pointed over to a small building at the edge of the clearing. "It was stored in there."

She quickly strode over to it, Windfola trailing, and opened the door. She picked up her saddle and bridle, quickly working to get her horse ready. She finally mounted, noticing that he had also.

xxx

They rode on into the forest, the leaves shading their heads. They were silent for a few moments, until she stopped, turning Windfola quickly to face him.

"Why are you suddenly paying attention to me?" She stared hard at him, and he was suddenly reminded of Lady Galadriel. Her hard gaze made him feel like an elfling caught stealing a pastry from the kitchens, and his new wife seemed to have the same uncanny power.

"You are my wife. Should I ignore you?" He resisted the urge to fidget.

"The entire month before our wedding you barely spoke to me. You did not answer the question." If possible, her voice grew even colder.

"I thought... that if we are to spend the rest of our lives together-"

Her voice was icy. "The rest of my life. You will never die." He winced, but continued on.

"-than we should at least be friends."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Because neither of us wanted this."

"No, but we must make the best of it."

She straightened. "You are my husband. It is my duty to do as you wish." Her voice was emotionless, her face expressionless.

"I would never force you to do anything against your will," he said softly.

Her voice was skeptical, and carried a hint of mockery in its tone. "Would you not?"

xxx

They rode on silently through the forest, and he turned his thoughts to it. Once, the forest had been his home, his life. Now he felt no connection with the trees. He could no longer hear their thoughts, nor did they reach out to him. It saddened him. The desire in his heart to sail had abated, for a little while, as soon as he had returned to the forest, but now it had come back, every passing moment adding to its strength. He could feel it tugging at him, setting its will against his.

Galadriel's words echoed mockingly in his head.

_Legolas Greenleaf long under the tree,_

_In joy thou hast lived, Beware of the Sea!_

_If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore,_

_Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more._

The sea had taken everything from him, but still he longed for it. And yet it was not the sea itself that called him, but the promise of what lay beyond. A lightness had stirred within him, and he had tasted what freedom could be. Freedom from despair, grief, darkness and shadow. None of those could touch the peace of Tol Eressëa. Valinor awaited him, hovering just beyond his reach. This world was no longer his own. It was a shadow, a dream. Only the sea was real. Valinor was real. Ennor was no longer his home. What peace he had known there was gone.

_The sea..._

It was mesmerizing in its savage beauty, the moonlight on the rolling waves gleaming like some shimmering scaled thing, the foaming crests eagerly racing ahead like horses at the head of a charge, a soft mist rising from the rocks on the shore as the waves relentlessly pounded against the gray stone...

"My lord?" The voice of his wife broke the storm inside him. Her voice still held its usual icy tone, though it seemed to have softened the slightest bit.

He turned around, reluctantly leaving his daydream behind. "Yes?"

She urged her horse to a trot, catching up to him. "Where are we going?"

"I thought you might like to see the training fields."

"I do not have my sword."

"I brought one for you to use, as well as mine."

She gave him a questioning look, but said nothing more.

xxx

"Those are the archery fields." He pointed over to a set of targets lined up in a row, a single warrior firing arrow after arrow from his bow, each of them embedding perfectly in the center.

He turned. "And that is where the weapons are stored."

As they walked up to the door, he worked up the courage to ask her a question. "Who trained you?"

"My cousin. My brother did not approve."

"Why?"

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow, though her voice turned slightly bitter. "Women are meant to be protected. The battlefield is no place for one of their kind."

He stayed silent, lifting the latch and opened the door into the small shed. "Spare weapons are kept in here, though the better ones reside in the palace armory."

"I see."

She looked at the various spears, shields, swords, bows, and knives lining the walls, the metal gleaming as the sun hit it.

He pulled two scabbards out of his cloak.

"For you." He handed her an ornate metal sheath with leaves and Elvish runes inlaid in gold covering the leather. She grasped the dark handle of the sword, pulling it from the sheath.

It was slightly longer than what she had grown used to, but it was so well-forged that it felt like an extension of her arm. The balance was perfect, the silver blade light but strong. More writing ran down the gently curved silver blade, and the dark, polished wood of the hilt was inlaid with a pattern of vines in gold.

"It was made for a female warrior in the ancient Elvish realm of Doriath. My grandfather brought it with him when he crossed the Misty Mountains and came to the forest."

"It is beautiful."

"I am glad that you like it. It is yours."

She looked up at him. Her voice had warmed slightly, and her gaze seemed to have softened as well. "Thank you."

He smiled. "Would you like to try it out?"

She tilted her head, and the moment passed. "You want to duel."

He shrugged. "I have heard of the prowess of the slayer of the Witch-king of Angmar. I will not say that I am not curious."

"And what of that of one of the Three Hunters? Already songs are being sung of your long chase across the fields of Rohan."

"Is that an answer?"

"I suppose it could be called such."

He smiled slightly. "Come."

xxx

As they walked out the door of the small shed, Legolas ran ahead, calling out to the Elf who was still practicing at the archery fields.

"Calion! I see that you have not improved in my absence."

The other elf turned, and a smile lit up his features. He was taller than she was, nearly the same height as Legolas. He had long brown hair so dark that it was almost black, braided in the style of the Mirkwood elves: two small braids over the ears and a thicker one down the back, the rest of his hair free. His eyes were a strikingly bright blue. He wore a dark tunic, jerkin and leggings that matched the color of his hair, and a quiver was strapped on his back, a knife at his belt.

"I have missed you so much, mellon-nin, that I will find it in myself to forgive your grievous error. For I have improved, and invite you to compete with me as soon as you are able."

The grasped each other's' wrists. "Alas, not today. But do not think that you are yet good enough to beat me."

"Yet." The other elf laughed as Éowyn drew up to them.

Legolas turned to her. "Calion, this is my- wife." The other elf bowed his head, and she nodded back. She wondered if the other had heard the slight hesitation in his voice. "This is Calion, my oldest friend."

He turned back to the other elf. "I was going to ask you if you would be willing to judge a duel between us."

"Of course." He turned back to Éowyn, whispering conspiratorially. "I would be wary, though. Legolas has always been a bit... clumsy with a sword. He has been apt to cause accidents."

Legolas laughed. "Nay, that is not true. For as I recall, it was you who tripped over your sword the second day that Dagniron had begun to teach us, right after he asked you to demonstrate the new maneuver. You had to receive ten stitches."

Calion grimaced. "Eleven. You have me beaten, I see. Very well. Where should it be?"

Legolas pointed over to a small grassy meadow. "Let it take place there."

The three of them walked over to the field, Legolas and Calion still talking.

"I was at the wedding." He looked over at Éowyn and smiled. "I wish you both every happiness."

A shadow seemed to pass over Legolas' face, but it was gone so quickly that she wondered if she had imagined it. "Yes."

"How has your father been?"

Legolas sighed. "As insufferable as ever."

Calion laughed. "Then one thing, at least, has not changed. I must hear of your adventures, and of how you found such a beautiful wife." He gave her a look that was decidedly roguish. "Are all the maids in Rohan as fair? For if they are, surely I shall have to travel there and find one of my own."

She bristled, but Legolas looked apologetically over at her, his eyes pleading with her to stay silent.

"Perhaps you should stay within the borders of the forest. Is Luiniel here?"

The other elf blushed slightly. "She is a border guard farther North. She will return in a few weeks."

Legolas smiled slyly. "Perhaps you will be needing my well-wishes before long."

Calion only blushed deeper. "Perhaps."

They stopped in the middle of the meadow, and Legolas turned his gaze back to her. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." She drew her sword, marveling that it made no sound. Legolas did likewise.

They faced each other on the grass, and she waited for him to attack first.

Suddenly he came at her, swinging his sword at her neck. She ducked, quickly, narrowly avoiding the blade. She had not realized just how strong he really was. He was bigger, though not by much, but she was quicker. She would have to use that to her advantage. She parried another blow, and tried to think of a plan. Her only hope seemed to try to wear him down, so she could attack. If he did not tire her first. She dodged another swing, ducking under his outstretched arm and coming up behind him. But he turned so quickly that she did not even see him move, and she was forced to block another set of blows quickly raining down on her.

She stepped away, forcing him to follow her.

Unfortunately for her, Elves did not seem to tire as quickly as Men. Even though he was fighting on the offensive, several minutes later he was barely breathing harder than usual.

She ducked another swing, and saw an opening. She quickly took it, throwing all her weight into a thrust that would have gutted him had he not moved out of the way at the last moment. But she was momentarily off her guard, and he took his advantage. He moved as if to swing at her again, and she raised her sword to block the blow, but instead he knocked it out of her hand. Suddenly she found the tip of his sword pressing lightly on the pulse near the base of her throat.

There was a moment of silence before anyone spoke. The duel had lasted longer than either of them had thought it would, though it seemed like only moments had passed. Calion let out a deep breath. "I think that Legolas won, my lady, though you put up a fair fight."

Legolas lowered his weapon, sheathing it, then picked up her sword, handing it back to her. "He is right. You are very skilled."

"Thank you." She inclined her head toward the two of them.

Calion spoke again, though this time his tone was serious. "Legolas is too modest to admit it, but aside from being the best archer in Mirkwood, he is the third-best swordsman, standing only behind Dagniron, Master Swordsman of this realm, and Thranduil himself."

Legolas opened his mouth as if to retort, a faint blush on his cheeks, but Calion raised a hand.

"It is true."

He turned again to her and smiled slightly. "I am sure that if I were to have had the pleasure of fighting you I would have been soundly thrashed."

Once again she inclined her head, but stayed silent.

She turned to Legolas. "We must leave. It is getting late." He looked up at the sky, noting that Anor was nearly above their heads.

"Yes." He turned to Calion. "We must speak again soon. And perhaps I shall let you have the honor of losing another archery contest."

The other elf smiled. "Do not be so sure."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "You never give up, do you?"

Calion laughed. "No."

He turned to Éowyn. "It was a pleasure to meet you, my lady." She nodded at him, and they started back toward the horses.


	6. Chapter Five

So it turns out that you should never, ever try to write stories set in Middle-earth on an iPad. Autocorrect kept switching 'Thranduil' to 'Thailand', 'Rivendell' to 'Wendell',' 'Ilúvatar' to 'Elevator', 'Arwen' to 'Arena', 'Fëanor' to 'Anorak' (what?), 'Valinor' to 'Vainglory', 'Morgoth' to 'Motormouth' (my favorite), 'Angband' to 'Bandanna', and 'Númenor' to 'Menorah', 'and 'Mirkwood' to 'Woodwork'. Thus, my sentences would read nonsense like: 'Thailand, King of Woodwork, sent his son Pergolas to Wendell with an important message for Lord Roundel. Pergolas joined the Fellowship of the Ring, formed to help Rodolfo on his quest to destroy the One Ring and vanquish the Dark Lord Sauropod.' And: 'Anorak created the Summarily in Vainglory. Evil Motormouth saw their beauty and stole them for his own. Anorak and his seven sons sailed to Middle-earth and fought many battles to regain the Summarily. Beret and Lutheran cut one of the jewels from Motormouth's crown, taking it to King Thing of Dorian as a bride-price. Beret lost his hand to Cathartic, the great Werewolf of Bandanna.' I kid you not, I was messing around with it and laughing for an hour. I am easily amused, apparently. I also need to get a life.

Thank you so very, very much for all the reviews. I was absolutely over the moon for days after reading them.

For a disclaimer, refer to the prologue.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Five**

Legolas peeled off his jerkin, dropping down into a chair and basking in the welcome warmth of the fire. He watched the flames dance, their movements blending together into a blur of orange light as his mind travelled elsewhere. He would have to prepare for the feast soon, he absently remembered, but he did not want to leave the comfortable peace that had surrounded him just yet. As usual, his thoughts eventually focused on the strange creature that was now his wife.

Suddenly, her fragility struck him. She had always seemed so strong, but he realized that it was only a clever act. There was no chink in her invisible armour, no chip on the battlements.

_She is so silent. She looks almost to be carved from marble, so cold and frozen that nothing can touch her._

Ice was brittle.

The armor that she had donned protected her from the world. But no one could break down the walls she had erected around herself, not even her own kin. He pitied her. What had forced her to such a dark road?

"Ion-nín?" The unwelcome voice of his father interrupted his thoughts.

He stiffened, muttering a curse under his breath, and Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "Was that _Dwarvish?_ Perhaps that dwarf is not such a good influence."

He stood and turned, though his eyes showed weariness. "Adar, his name is Gimli."

Scorn laced the Elvenking's tone. "He is a _dwarf_. His name is of no importance."

Legolas' voice turned hard. "Adar-" Luckily, their conversation was interrupted.

"My lord?" Both elves turned to find a messenger in the doorway.

"Lord Celeborn sends word," he said, obviously nervous under the two charged gazes, holding out a parchment with shaking fingers. Thranduil strode over to him and grabbed the letter, dismissing the elf with a wave of his hand and shutting the door firmly behind him.

"Tomorrow, I wish for you to take a patrol into the South of the forest. There are reports of orc activity."

Legolas sighed. No matter how distasteful the task seemed, it had to be done. "Very well. Who will go?"

"Calion, Faroth, Luiniel. Those are the only warriors I know for certain, though there will be others as well."

"A large party."

"Yes. It will be a hard trip, with snow on the ground and little hunting."

There was an awkward moment of silence before either of them spoke. Thranduil looked at the letter in his hand, sighing softly. "I have other business to attend to, and you must prepare for the banquet."

"Will I see you again before we depart?"

"I do not know. I will not be at the feast tonight." He suddenly drew his son into a tight embrace, and Legolas stiffened as his father's arms went around him. "Be careful," he murmured into the younger elf's hair.

Legolas gently disentangled himself. "I am not rash."

"I worry for you."

"You should not."

"You are my son. I cannot help it."

"I will be _fine._" His voice now carried an edge, but Thranduil did not notice.

Thranduil's voice softened. "You have grown into a capable warrior. I am proud of you."

"Adar-" His voice was muffled into his father's shoulder as the older elf once again pulled him into a tight embrace.

He finally released the younger elf, and Legolas spoke. "Farewell, Adar."

Thranduil raised a hand, as if to touch his cheek, but Legolas stepped back nervously. A brief look of hurt flashed across his face, but he straightened. "Farewell, Legolas," he said softly, and walked out the door.

xxx

Legolas absently presided over the banquet, going through the motions, though his mind was far away. Éowyn was present, though they did not speak until he volunteered to walk her back to her chambers.

"Why, when you were in Rohan, did you only use a bow and knife?" Her cold voice broke his reverie, and he struggled to collect his thoughts.

He sighed. "When I left for Imladris as a messenger from my father, it was my first time outside the borders of the forest. He loves me greatly in his own way, for I am his only child. But his love became too possessive, and ever he sought to keep me from harm. He did not realize that I was not an elfling anymore, that I had wishes and desires that were different from his own. He thought it would be safe. What could go wrong on a short trip from one Elvish realm to another? But I was asked to join the Fellowship, and I accepted, the thought of which had never entered into his wildest dreams. As for the sword," he said, correctly guessing what she was thinking, "I was sent as a hunter, not a warrior. I would have no need of such weapons. Or so he thought."

He smiled faintly. "I prefer the bow, so I suppose it was for the best."

Again they walked in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, and he suddenly wondered why she did not refuse to let him walk her to her rooms every night. It was not like her to accept help in any form. "Have you seen the palace?"

"No."

"I could show you. It is large, but not very complex." He had wished for something to bring his mind from his father, and it seemed the perfect opportunity, even if her company left much to be desired.

She nodded mutely, and he continued. "You have already seen the throne room and the feasting hall. The Royal Family's chambers are here." He pointed into a corridor branching off the main passage.

They resumed their silent walk, and he opened a large but unassuming door, grabbing a silver lamp from the wall.

"This," he said, opening the door and waiting for her to pass through, "is the library."

He stepped inside, gesturing to the huge walls of books and scrolls. "It is not as extensive as the one in Imladris, though it still has more than many." He noticed her faint intake of breath at the sight. He supposed that had never realized it before, but it was rather impressive. The ceilings were cavernous, and shelves lined the walls, various ladders and stairs allowing easy access to their wealth of knowledge. The single lamp cast a soft glow over the nearest rows of books, the rest of the room shaded in darkness. He hung it on the wall.

She turned, raising an eyebrow. "Gondor does not have so many books. Rohan has even fewer."

"Do you like to read, my lady?" He walked over to the nearest shelf, pulling down a thin volume.

"As much as I am able. I did not often have the time for books."

He handed it to her. "This recounts the story of Aegnor and Andreth."

She looked up at him, her expression unreadable. "The mortal woman who fell in love with an Elf."

He suddenly realized the irony of the situation. "I did not mean..." he trailed off, sighing softly. "Yes. It is a sad story."

She turned the soft leather cover over in her hands, not meeting his gaze. "Are any of them not?"

He stared at her bowed head a moment before speaking. "There are few books in the Common Speech, though any that you would like to read you are welcome to borrow."

"Thank you, my lord."

He turned back to the shelves, pulling down another volume, slowly flipping through the pages as the moments passed, the flowing Tengwar blending together as the story wove itself in his mind.

He finally worked up the courage to voice a question that he had been wondering about for some time. "Do you ever tire of waking up every morning and putting on a mask for the rest of the world?"

He did not realize that he was describing himself as much as her.

Her gaze fixed on the wall ahead of her. "I did, once. But it is no longer a mask for me. Somewhere I lost myself, and I fear that she will never return." As she spoke a hint of sadness crept into her voice, and he realized it was the most emotion he had ever seen her express.

"Why did you do it?" He knew he was treading a dangerous path, but he could not stop now.

She looked up, her gaze suddenly guarded. "What?"

"Why did you ride with the men into battle?"

She sighed, turning away, her voice a faint whisper.

"I wished to escape."

He did not speak, staring silently at her back, and she went on.

"There was only one path of escape left for me to take: the Halls of Mandos. Yet even that was denied me. No longer am I allowed the luxury of choices. I am but a pawn in other people's plans, playing the part set out for me." Her voice was tinged with bitterness. "I am not brave. I did not do it because I had courage. Nay, I am weak. Even now, I can only run. I am a coward." Self-loathing filled her voice.

"Yet you alone of all the soldiers stood and did not flee."

She turned back to face him, and her eyes showed a weariness and pain that went beyond her years. "I wished to do great deeds, preferably dying in the process. I did not quail because I had nothing to live for. It was not courage. It was a death-wish."

She turned away, her arms hugging her slim figure as if she were freezing. Her voice dropped again to a broken whisper. "But still I could not save him."

"His fate was sealed the moment he fell from his horse. You could have done nothing."

Had he not known better, he would have thought she was weeping. But he could sense that no tears would fall from her eyes. He wondered how long it had been since she had cried.

After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his voice soft but inquisitive. "What do you fear, my lady?"

She stiffened defensively, her voice cold. Her arms dropped to her sides. "I fear nothing." She fell silent for a moment before speaking again. "No," she continued. "I have seen the worst. There is nothing more for me to fear. Why should I fear pain, when it will pass? Why should I fear death, when it is but an escape from the horrors of life? I welcomed it once. Perhaps I still do."

"It is not the answer to your troubles."

She turned and looked up at him, and he saw that her eyes, usually so emotionless, were filled with despair. "What is there for me to live for? My cousin and uncle are dead. My brother is now King of the Riddermark, and has no time to spare for his little sister. There is no one who loves me. I have no reason to keep on living."

"There is always hope," he said softly.

"For what? If there is a light at the end of this tunnel, I cannot see it."

xxx

They both fell silent, but after seconds turned to minutes, his voice eventually shattered the fragile peace that had settled around them.

"I am leaving on an orc-raiding party into the South of the forest tomorrow."

She looked up at him. "May I go with you?"

Legolas blinked. "What?"

"Could I join the patrol?"

"Why?" _Must you always ask for reasons?_

"I am bored. It may seem selfish, but I miss the fighting. I have lived all my life in a time of war. I do not know how to act now that there is peace."

_And I will not be left alone with your father,_ she silently added. _Although either option is repugnant, I prefer you to him._

There was a moment of silence before he spoke, his voice quiet. "I understand, for I have felt the same way." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "And I sincerely doubt that I would be able to stop your coming."

There was another awkward moment of silence before he spoke. "It is late, and we leave early. You should rest."

"Sleep has ever evaded me. It matters not."

But she forced herself to a walk as she passed quietly out the door.

xxx

_She stood in the throne room at Edoras between a set of columns, looking on at the empty hall. It was unusually silent. She simply stayed there, waiting for something, though she knew not what. Suddenly her ears picked up a sound. Slowly, soft footsteps neared where she stood, and she started in surprise at who she saw._

_It was herself, the maiden she had been but a few months before. Her white brow was creased with worry, and dark smudges of purple shadowed the skin under her eyes._

_Suddenly the maiden stopped, her hand balling into a fist half-hidden in her white skirts, and Éowyn heard another set of footsteps nearing her hiding place. She recognized the smooth, slinking tread, and the familiar fear took her as she saw the black-robed man drawing near the maiden._

_He stopped directly in front of her, leering. The dream maiden stared at the floor, not meeting his gaze. Éowyn suddenly remembered what would happen next, half looking on at the scene, half recalling what she had felt._ Fly, fly! _her mind had screamed, but she could not move, frozen in place._

_Gríma, for that was who the man was, spoke. His words were soft, jeering at her, though a current of menace underlaid his tone._

_"Why do you flee the inevitable? You cannot hide forever."_

_The maiden looked up, finally finding her voice, though it sounded pitifully weak to her ears. "Leave me. I wish to be alone."_

_He laughed softly, and the dream maiden shivered slightly at the sound. He began to walk in slow circles around her, drawing closer with each step. "Oh, but you are alone. Your uncle has no time to spare for your petty troubles. Your cousin is dead. Your brother has deserted you. There are no more backs for you to cower behind, Éowyn." He stopped, stepping closer, until he was only a few inches from her._

_He reached out to touch her cheek, and the maiden stiffened. Her jaw was tight, and her face betrayed no emotion, her eyes closed and head held high. Only her fists clenched at her sides, quivering with suppressed force, showed how angry she was, but powerless to stop what was happening._

_A set of heavy footfalls, this time the sound intermixed with the harsh clanking of armour, neared the hall, and he stepped back. With one last malicious look at her he turned and slipped silently into the shadows, and the maiden fell to her knees, her proud head buried in her hands. A single tear splashed through her fingers onto the cold gray stone of the floor, the soft sound echoing grimly in the silent hall._

xxx

She awoke from her fitful slumber with a silent scream on her lips. She sat up quickly, breathing heavily. As her gaze focused, she stared at the wall, the shadows behind the tapestries making her cringe. She slowly lay down again, though her eyes remained wide open, staring off into the darkness. The darkness that reminded her of _him_. She buried her face in the pillow next to her.

_I must not speak of it. I must not be reminded of it. I shall go mad if I am forced to relive it._

She had fled from the memories that had haunted her, yet still they remained, lurking on the edge of her consciousness, waiting for the chance to rear their ugly heads. He had asked why she had chosen him, but she did not tell him that it was also because she had tried to run away from the reminder of those dark years. The Golden Hall was a prison, full of shadows and darkness. But she now realized that even thousands of leagues could not separate her from the nightmare she had lived.

_I cannot let him speak of it._

His sudden question had caught her off-guard, and she had not been prepared to evade it. She had been too flustered to avoid the second, and he delivered the rest in such quick succession that she could do nothing but answer truthfully, not daring to hide what she had so long kept hidden.

She was suddenly filled with loathing for her husband. Why could he not let her be? Why did he have to drag all that had been out into the open, causing her pain unimaginable?

She should have cried. She should have wept from despair, as she had done countless times before her heart had finally been sealed away. But still she could not, for she was beyond tears. There were none left to fall. She was a shell of a person, cold and frozen beyond repair.

He could never understand her, of that she was certain. So why did he try?

She lay back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. She would get no more sleep this night.


	7. Chapter Six: Part I

You know you're a Tolkien fanatic when three-quarters of the songs on your iPod come from the Lord of the Rings movie soundtracks.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! You have no idea how much it means to me. Also, to those of you who have reviewed but don't have accounts that I can respond to, please know that each and every review you've written has been read and treasured as well.

A quick note: school started for me this week (yuck), and already I'm having quite a bit of homework. I'll try to update at least once every two weeks, but occasionally life gets in the way. Rest assured, I will not be abandoning this story! I just have to spend quite a bit of time on my schoolwork.

For a disclaimer, refer to the prologue.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Six: Part I**

Éowyn gazed at the ceiling above her, her eyes unblinking. It was still shrouded in darkness, though she knew, somehow, that it was time to rise.

She reluctantly crawled free of the warm nest of her sheets, wincing slightly as the cold stone of the floor chilled her bare feet. She all but ran into her bathing room, quickly dropping into the steaming water that had been prepared for her. She closed her eyes, allowing herself a few luxurious seconds of complete nothingness before scrubbing her skin clean and washing her hair. It would be long before she would be able to do so again, and she was not one to waste such an opportunity.

She returned to her bedroom, quickly plaiting her hair before pulling out a tunic, jerkin and leggings, the warmest she could find. The tunic was a dark brown, soft and cool against her skin. The jerkin was so deep a green that it was almost black, embroidered with a swirling pattern of entwined leaves and vines at the neck and shoulders. The colors of Mirkwood, she thought. But she did not care, as perhaps she should have.

It was one more claim on her. One more tie binding her to a world that was not her own.

She carefully buttoned the high neck, absently staring at her reflection in the mirror. There were deep shadows under her eyes, and her skin looked even paler than usual. She looked weary, and she was. But she would never allow it to stop her.

She turned away, pulling a small leather bag out of her chest. It was already packed, and she slung it over her shoulder.

She rummaged through her chest, pulling out the sword she had brought with her from Rohan. Her own had been destroyed when she had killed the Witch-king, and this new blade was less than ideal. It was too long, too heavy. It was cumbersome, far too slow to wield.

There was the new Elvish blade. She sighed softly, drawing it from the sheath with a faint metallic rasp. It would be infinitely preferable to the other, had she not rebelled against the thought.

She had sparred with this blade. He had won the duel, and by doing so he had humiliated her. She had always had to work twice as hard as the others because she was a woman. She had always been stern with herself, but with this it had been different. She would never settle for second-best.

She thrust the sword roughly back into the scabbard.

And then had come the battle. She had fought, she had been wounded, she had stopped practicing. Her shield arm was broken; it had healed. The other was different; she could tell it would never fully heal. It felt strange, as if she could not feel it as well as the other. In time she had grown used to it, but it was still slightly weaker than before. She supposed it would always be so.

She had stayed in the Houses of Healing, and she had not been allowed to train. She had returned to Rohan, and her duties had prevented her, nor would her brother allow her to. Not so soon after she had been wounded, he had said, but what he had really meant was, _I almost lost you once. I will not allow it to happen again, no matter the cost._ She had never obeyed him before had his will clashed with her own, but she dared not this time. Now he was her king. Or so she told herself. But in her heart, she knew that she did not want to. She hated the fame that had come after the battle. She hated being admired for what she had done. Trying to forget, she stopped.

And then she had ridden to Mirkwood to marry a man she had hardly known, and she had not known where to do so, nor was there anyone to duel with.

And then she had sparred with him, and he had beaten her. Yes, he had humiliated her, and she would not allow it to happen again. Never again. She had not shown it; she never showed what she felt.

But it was there all the same. Memories, more reminders. How many must she relive, she wondered, before she was finally accorded blessed relief?

She pushed her thoughts away, numbing herself to all around her, as she had done countless times before when faced with an unpleasant task. She fastened the Elvish scabbard to her belt. She must not think about it. It would not be practical to leave it behind in favor of a lesser weapon. It could very well be the difference between life and death.

If nothing else, she was practical. But all the same, her knuckles were white as she fastened her cloak about her throat.

A soft knock at the door made her freeze for a moment as she was drawn back to reality. She sighed softly, then quickly strode over to it, walking out of her chambers without a backward glance.

They walked in silence through the vast corridors of the palace, not speaking, uncomfortable in each others' presence. The words exchanged the night before had done little to melt the ice that had grown between them.

They stepped out of the palace, dawn still a promise yet to come. A cold, misty rain was falling through the shadowy darkness, and Éowyn pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. It would soon turn to snow.

The horses were standing there. She could see Windfola, saddled and bridled, waiting quietly for her to arrive. Arod was there as well, as were many others. There were shadowy gray shapes perched on top of them; the rest of the party. Another detached itself from the trees at the edge of the clearing, striding quickly toward the group of mounts. The figure swung gracefully onto a black stallion, whispering words of greeting to the others. All wore tunics and leggings in the dark green and brown, both so dark they were nearly black, the colors mirroring those of the forest around them: the livery of the King.

Legolas mounted his horse, and she hers. Windfola nickered softly in greeting, though she did not notice. And without another word the party rode out of the clearing, soft footprints in the mud the only sign of their passing.

xxx

"You lie!" Calion laughed as Luiniel stared at him disbelievingly.

"Nay."

"It cannot be." The elleth now had a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

His eyes glinted. "Oh, but it is true."

She was openly grinning now. "You cannot expect me to believe that it was _you_ who actually stuffed Methion's bedroll with snow!"

Calion smirked. "I learned more oaths that day than I thought possible. Of course, I could never have done it without Legolas."

She laughed, turning to Legolas. "And you! I did not think you capable of such devious deeds."

He looked over at her from where he sat on his mount, his eyes dancing. "You have known me since we were elflings, Luiniel. Do you truly think I would pull such immature _pranks_?"

She raised a delicate eyebrow. "Do not forget that I was there when you hid Dagniron's sword in the tree."

"That was not I!"

"Only you could climb that high."

"Ah, but it was never proved. I did not brag," he looked pointedly at Calion, "about my escapades."

Calion shrugged. "You would not dare tell. I know enough about what you have done to make your father banish you to Harad."

"Pray tell," Magolion interjected, his eyes glinting with a mischievous light.

"Nay. I would not want to forever endanger our commander's authority by relating his youthful misadventures." Legolas rolled his eyes at this, but did not speak.

"Were they really so terrible as that?" This time it was Aglarion who spoke, Magolion's brother. They had the same dark hair and grey eyes, only able to be told apart by the weapons they chose, something they had often used to their advantage.

Calion turned to him, his expression serious. "Worse." The trio burst out laughing.

"But," Níndir said, "you, Magolion, put a bucket of mud on top of Meldir's door so it fell on him when he walked into his rooms."

At this, Meldir looked up. "So it _was_ you!"

He grinned sheepishly. "You put the mouse in my bedroll."

Ruiwen's face was grave, but her eyes glinted. "Such foolishness! One would think that you were still but elflings."

Calion looked over his shoulder at her. "You are no older than I. And I will never forget that you innocently told Thranduil that his son was planning to prank him when there was no such thing. He jumped at the slightest sound for a week!"

She glared at him, and he laughed. "You cannot speak of such things. Your hands are no cleaner than mine."

"I said no such thing!"

Legolas felt Éowyn go rigid. Her countenance was severe and cold as she rode at his side, the ice radiating off her almost palpable. She spoken hardly a word as they travelled South, obviously uncomfortable. Calion had politely greeted her when they had arrived, but she had only nodded at him coldly.

The jests of the party faded into the background as his mind wandered elsewhere.

_It was not courage. It was a death-wish._

Her somber words echoed in his head. But she was wrong, even if she could not see it herself.

_Maybe, in part. But if so, why do you still fight?_

A slow, simmering fury filled him. Who had fed her such lies? She seemed to think that she was worth nothing, when nothing could be further from the truth.

She looked over at him, and their eyes met. She seemed to somehow sense his thoughts, and he wondered if he were really so easy to read.

She stiffened, her proud gaze staring straight ahead, though her knuckles whitened where they gripped the reins. "I do not desire your pity." Her voice was cold, her jaw tight.

Suddenly, Limlind appeared in the forest before them, swinging up onto his mount where it quietly walked at Baranir's side, and the party fell silent, their jests forgotten. "There is an enemy camp ahead. Small, twenty at the most."

"How far?" Esgalion asked, his sharp gaze boring into their scout.

"A league."

Legolas turned to the war party, his reverie forgotten, once again the commander. "We ride."

There was no more banter now, only the soft footfalls of the horses as they rode silently toward the orc camp. He could feel the slight shifting of arrows in his quiver, its weight a comforting presence. He could tell Anor was setting below the horizon. They would have made camp soon. But a fire would be dangerous with orcs so near. They would not risk being attacked first. Even so, he nudged Arod into a trot, then a canter, the horse's breath hanging in the air like mist.

A few moments later, Limlind raised a hand. "Stay," he whispered.

"We leave the horses."

They quickly drew lots for the guard. Faroth and Eluneth were chosen, and the rest of the party dismounted and Limlind led them off into the shadowy darkness of the trees. They walked in silence, each taut, ready to draw weapons at a moment's notice.

The harsh sounds of the enemy camp finally reached them. The orange light from their fires flickered brighter as they drew closer, and growls and the sound of meat being ripped from the bone grated on his sensitive ears.

"They slay only for the pleasure of killing. Show them no mercy, for you shall receive none in return," he breathed, his voice audible only to the Elven war party.

He drew an arrow from his quiver, silently nocking it. There was a faint metallic rasp as Éowyn drew her sword, the slight brush of fingers on fletchings as Calion readied a shaft.

They moved toward the enemy camp, running lightly over the snow that gently blanketed the forest floor. As they drew near, he aimed and released the arrow. The shaft was true, a shriek of agony finding its way to his ears, but his hand was already drawn again to his cheek even before the first arrow had found its mark. As they sprinted toward the camp he drew his knife from the sheath where it hung at his belt.

Suddenly, they were upon them, the furied roars of the beasts filling the air. The orcs clambered for their weapons, but many were dead even before their mottled fingers found the hilt of a sword. One of the creatures ran at him, its teeth bared in an angry roar. He quickly ducked the sword swung at him in a deadly arc and plunged his knife into the beast's side. It was covered with thick black blood, blood that ran down his arm, sticky and hot. It was not an unfamiliar feeling. Once it had repulsed him. The first time he had slain an orc, he had thought that he would never feel clean again. He had scrubbed his skin raw, willing the feel of the oily blood to go away. Now he only looked on impassionately.

War had changed him, just as it had changed all it touched with its groping fingers.

He had laughed with Gimli about the number of creatures they had killed. They had even made a game of it. His humour, once untouched by the innocence of youth, had turned dark, mirroring the heavy cloud that had covered the world in shadow.

The orc gave a piggish squeal of agony that quickly faded into a gurgle. He turned to face several more, his mind not registering the soft thud behind him as the body fell to the forest floor. He could see a flash of silver as Ruiwen swung her blade a few paces to the left, the dark blue of Calion's jerkin as his arrow found its mark to the right. The shadows hid the others, but for the occasional gleam of silver as firelight glinted on a blade or arrowhead.

Just as quickly as it had started the fight was over, and the war party stood still, panting. There was a long gash on Níndir's arm, red blood seeping through the cloth of his jerkin. Esgalion was hastily bandaging the wound. Otherwise, the party was unhurt.

His quiver was spent; he walked among the dead, searching for unbroken shafts. Mottled bodies were strewn everywhere; some missing heads, others with arrows sprouting from chests or throats. Black blood stood out in stark contrast where it stained the snow.

He turned to the rest of the party where they had gathered, and they silently stepped out into the night, striding away from the ruined orc camp without a backward glance.

xxx

This time, my esteemed parental units are begging you to preserve their tenuous grip on sanity by leaving a review. According to them, after receiving your comments I am in a Good Mood™ (symptoms of which include dopey smiles, random bouts of laughter, and a tendency to check my email inbox for alerts every five minutes in a very NON-stalkerish fashion). Therefore, IF you leave a review, I will most definitely not be in a Bad Mood™ (symptoms of which include moping, picking fights with anyone within a hundred-foot radius, and general gloominess). You leave a review, I'm happy, I don't get my computer privileges taken away indefinitely, and you get the next chapter sooner. It's actually pretty simple. See? It all works out in your favor. It'll only take a few seconds, promise. You just have to click a little button...

™ borrowed from JastaElf, who is awesome. You should check out her stories too, especially "The Scruff Factor," definitely one of the funniest (or possibly even the funniest) stories I have ever read.


	8. Chapter Six: Part II

I've actually spent some time doing a bit of research on personal issues in relation to this story, namely Éowyn's severe psychological trauma. Basically, to clarify what I've been describing in the story so far, she's ignoring her emotions as a sort of defense/coping mechanism. Gríma emotionally abused her, using fear as a means to subdue her and try to make her let him have his way with her. I suppose you could classify what she is going through as a kind of PTSD with parts of depersonalization disorder, especially emotional detachment/numbing, and even a bit of depression mixed in, so severe that she wanted to die and tried to commit suicide by walking willfully into a situation that she knew she could not survive.

I hope that makes sense. You can look up all those long names if you have the desire to; I just wanted to figure out what exactly was wrong with her looking at it from a psychological standpoint. Her problems are very valid, considering the circumstances, and thus she is not able to be able to function normally. She also has some trust issues; something that Legolas will hopefully be able to help her get through.

I do, however, want to say that I appreciate each and every review you have submitted. Honestly, I think I have the best reviewers on the site. You guys are the best!

I wish to clarify something with the timeline that could be confusing. The beginning of this chapter, with Thranduil, happens soon after they left the palace, but the second part, with Éowyn and Legolas, happens several weeks after.

For a disclaimer, refer to the prologue.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Six: Part II**

Thranduil stared at the map hanging on the wall, his gaze locked on the black dot that marked Edoras.

_She is hiding something. Something is not right._

It was a vaguely uneasy feeling; a nagging fear, but it bothered him. He knew little of what had happened in the Riddermark during the war, only that the House of Eorl was all but ended and that the wizard Saruman had tried to claim those lands. There had been a great battle, one that Legolas had fought in. But then Mithrandir and King Elessar had moved on to Gondor, and there had the last battles been fought.

Had Rohan been the right choice? Were they really so strong? For the first time in his innumerable years, indecision took hold of the Elvenking.

He rose from his seat, closing the door firmly behind him and striding purposefully toward her rooms. He must know what it was.

He knocked softly, waiting. A servant passed him in the corridor; he nodded at the maiden coldly. Seconds ticked by, and he knocked again. Still there was no answer. With a sigh of frustration, he turned the latch. To his surprise, it was unlocked, and he stepped inside.

He looked quickly into the bedroom. The bed was made; the room spotless. There was no one there. He strode to the sitting room. Still untouched.

Fury drove all rational thought from his mind.

_She is gone._

He picked up a book, hurling it toward the wall with such force that the spine cracked, pages floating down from the ceiling in a rain of flowing Elvish script; his careful control forgotten.

_They have betrayed us._

Thranduil sat down heavily in a chair, his proud head in his hands. He had become too trusting. They never would have come. She had taken advantage of them, and now she was gone.

His plans, so carefully laid, had failed.

He should have had her watched. What were Men, but a torn, ragged race? There had never been any honor among them. Had he not seen Númenor fall to its greed? Had he not watched as Isildur took the Ring for his own? If not even the Men of Westernesse, with some drops of Elvish blood still running through their veins, could not keep their word, the wild Men of the North could not even conceive of such.

He was a fool.

It was with a much heavier heart that King Thranduil slowly returned to his rooms, quietly drinking until he was sick.

xxx

After the first skirmish, they rode on. They fought again and again; the days stretching into a grimly disquieting routine as they cleansed the forest of the evil that still dared linger with its borders. She had her first encounter with the few giant spiders that remained in the forest, she saw the trees darken as they neared the Hill of Sorcery. Dol Guldur had been leveled, but now that Lady Galadriel's Ring had returned to Lothlórien a shadowy darkness had again come to the forest. Less potent than when the Necromancer had taken over, the Elves had said, and it would fade with time.

Yet they could not explain the boldness of the orcs who still would not return to the Misty Mountains. Time, they said. They simply needed time. Time would kill off the remaining shadow.

But they did not say that if the orcs were to band together and attack, Mirkwood alone would not be strong enough to resist. They would not need a leader to unite them into an army; even unorganized, there were few enough of the Elves left for an attack to be fatal.

The thirtieth day after leaving the palace, they rode on after a short battle. Their circuit was complete; they had turned around somewhere and begun to head back North. If they rode hard, unhindered by skirmishes and the need for rest, they could reach the Woodland Realm in two days. One, if they had no care for the horses.

They would be home soon.

She stared off absently into the trees, the forest darkening in the twilight. The thought disquieted her. She hated the forest; but being in the wilds was somewhat preferable to the cavern palace, if only because she could pretend that she had some semblance of freedom.

Was her life a farce, a show put on to please whoever might be watching? She could pretend that she was happy. If she tried hard enough, she could even convince the others.

But she could not fool herself.

She wished she had not come. Nay, that was not true. She would be as unhappy here as trapped in her rooms in the palace, or on the fields of Rohan.

Truly, she wished that she were dead. She wished that she could simply cast herself down one night and not wake when the morn came. Every day was a chore, an insurmountable task to be completed.

Therein lay the irony.

She was not strong enough to keep living; yet she was not strong enough to let herself die. She had allowed Aragorn to call her back from the darkness that had taken her from her world. She was not strong enough, even at the last. She was not afraid of what she might find beyond the borders of the world, but somehow she could not force herself to take such a path.

Why had she let him call her back when there was no hope for one such as she?

She regretted it her every waking moment. Once there had been something. Before, she could dream about fighting in a glorious battle, of riding to war against her foes. But it was over now. What she had known all her life was gone.

And now there was simply—nothing.

It was the nothingness, the utter emptiness of her existence that bothered her more than anything. It was the nothingness that frightened her. She still wished to be free. She had wished to escape. She had escaped, even if only for a brief moment.

Freedom: the one thing she could never have, the one thing she had always longed for.

She had feared a cage, not realizing that the bars had already closed in about her. A cage where she would sit, watching numbly the life she could never have. There could never be any escape. She was trapped. She had broken free for a few glorious seconds, only to walk straight into another snare. But this time—this time the bars were stronger. There would be no escape for her.

Now even death was denied her, whether by her own will or that of another.

She had never considered taking her own life. The idea was simply repugnant to her. She would not kill herself, but she would walk gladly into a situation where chances of survival were dim.

She had despaired of finding anything worth living for. She still did. Did such a thing exist? The others had fought for it, even died for it, whatever it was. But she was different. She had never understood how they could so willingly throw away their lives if they did not wish to die. If they wanted to keep on living, how could they find the strength? They were the ones with the courage. Not she. Perhaps they were simply ignorant. Foolish, even. But they had courage.

The forest was now filled with the kind of utter blackness that, as a child, would have frightened her out of her mind, the soft footfalls of the other horses her only guide.

Still, she wondered what it would be like to have something that you loved so much you would die for it. That there was something for you to live for.

She did not realize that, perhaps, that it was what she had been seeking all along. Perhaps that was the hope that sealed her existence.

She could not let herself die; for there was hope beyond the despair that clouded her vision. And in some secret part of her, she still wished to taste it.

xxx

"You must eat," Legolas said, holding out a bowl of steaming venison stew to the mortal maiden as she sat on a fallen log, staring numbly at the flames that warmed the small camp. There were few stags this deep into the winter, and they still avoided the shadowy remains of Dol Guldur. It was pure luck that Níndir had shot one of the fleet beasts.

"I am not hungry," Éowyn said shortly, looking away.

"You are wasting away," he said, a trace of irritation in his tone. It was true. Her already slim figure was beginning to look painfully thin, her cheeks almost gaunt, a feature only accentuated by the sharp contrast the shadows made on her face. The inky purple smudges that shadowed the skin under her eyes were dark enough to seem bruises, making her eyes shine with an unnaturally clear, cold light.

She looked up at him, a challenge in her gaze. "You cannot force me."

_Do not dare to play such games. You have met your match, my lady._

He straightened, eyes glinting, though he longed to simply throw himself and rest. "I am commander of all warriors on this expedition. If you wish to fight, you must partake of some nourishment. I shall send you back with an escort if you do not comply." His voice lowered. "Should I be forced to do so, there will be grave consequences."

She openly glared at him now, roughly snatching the bowl of stew from his grasp.

He turned away, a slight smile on his lips. He dropped down onto another fallen log, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze quickly surveying the camp.

Meldir was dramatically imitating the singing of some ballad, Magolion and Aglarion roaring with laughter. Faroth had pulled out a battered tome and was reading the Narn i Chîn Húrin for the umpteenth time on the journey. Calion was leaned up against a tree, quietly speaking with Luiniel while mending arrows, his usually laughing face grave as they talked of some important matter. Baranir stood silently next to Níndir as he prodded the fire with a stray stick, watching as the sparks flew up to join the stars. Ruiwen was already wrapped tightly in her bedroll, her exhausted gaze vacant as she stared up into the boughs. Esgalion was sharpening his blade, the silvery metal gleaming in the firelight, Eluneth staring off blankly into the trees with her huge, doe-like eyes.

That he could be like the other Elves, without worry or responsibility. Legolas had always considered himself a Silvan Elf not only out of respect for his mother, not only to subtly slight to his father, but because unlike the lords of the Sindar, they were _free_.

The smile faded.

He hated being a prince. He hated playing the commander. He hated the authority that came with it. But he hated having to use that authority most of all.

He wished that the fleeting months spent with the Nine Walkers could have gone on forever. Had it only been a year before? It seemed as if eternity had gone by since they had left Imladris. With them, he was simply another Elf, simply Legolas of the Woodland Realm. With them, he was afforded the luxury of anonymity; he could make a difference, play the hero, even, but by his will and not that of another. He could have adventures, not be set apart because his life was somehow more precious than those of the others'. He could be appreciated for himself, not for his title. For once, he could surrender command to someone else. For once he could remain in the background, not be forced into the title role.

For once, his father was not watching his every move, calculating when to pull the strings.

He had never shied from responsibility, accepting that it was his birthright. But he had never accepted that he was not free to be what he would, without the constraints his blood placed upon his head.

_Everyone desires what they cannot possess,_ his mother had once told him.

Only now did he see her wisdom. Others longed to be a noble, not realizing that the allure of a crown was tempered by the duties that came with it.

How wrong they all were.

At first, he had tried to ignore it, pretending that he was simply a commoner. He had no title, none of the worries and responsibilities that came with it. It was easy enough. He was young, innocent, naïve.

But only after those blessed months of freedom had passed, when he returned to the forest had the realization finally struck him.

And he could no longer deny who he was.

Now, apparently, he was needed.

He had done what his father wished. He had done his duty; he had preserved his realm.

And he regretted it every moment.

She was still there; a physical reminder of what he could not push aside. Even here he could not escape it.

He watched absently as Éowyn forced another spoonful past her lips before setting aside the half-empty bowl with distaste. It was almost as if she were a child sometimes, he mused. But at others she seemed to be more wise than he, even if she had only seen a fraction of his long years.

There lay the problem, he thought, looking down at his fingers, studying them as if he had never seen his hands before. He could not ignore her, no matter how he wished to. It would not be right to marry her and then pay her no heed. He rebelled against such a thought. He had done this; he would weather the consequences. But it could not stop him from wishing that she would disappear. There was no doubt in his mind that she felt the same.

But in some part of him, he knew that it were not so. She presented a challenge. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, he realized, however reluctantly. She was a riddle; completely different from anyone he had ever seen.

They were both playing a game, a dangerous one. How long would it be until one of them misstepped?

Suddenly, Limlind dropped from the branches in front of them, landing lightly on the earth. The nearest horse whinnied in surprise. Calion scrambled to his feet, the camp fallen completely silent, all looking expectantly at the scout. Unceremoniously, he leapt onto his mount, wheeling the black stallion around to face them.

"There is a camp straight ahead on a hill. We will have to scale a cliff to reach it; the other side is watched."

Legolas rose, his reverie relievedly forgotten. "How many?"

"Thirty, perhaps. Not more."

Legolas turned to the rest of the war party, avoiding the sharp gaze of his wife. "Rouse the camp. We ride." They quickly packed with the efficiency that only Elves could manage and silently mounted their horses, Limlind in the lead.

xxx

I promise, stuff WILL happen in the next chapter. Really, really important stuff. Just stick with me a bit longer, okay?

When I started this story, I didn't anticipate Éowyn *ahem* _disliking_ Legolas so much. Or him really disliking her, for that matter. It just sort of happened on its own, which was not what I intended at first. But I think it seems realistic that they both sort of hate each other, considering the circumstances. For now, at least. Of course, now I have to figure out a way for them to at least tolerate each other, and then they have to learn to enjoy each others' company. That will be hard enough, let alone making them fall in love. Ugh, why did I have to pick such headstrong characters? Not that I don't love to write them, it's just... hard.

A quick question… if I were to do a Mary-Sue parody (eventually… two WIP stories is enough for now, thankyouverymuch), would you read? I'm thinking something about Saruwoman the Iridescent, Saruman's inordinately beautiful but terribly evil twin sister who tries to ensnare the affections of our favorite Son of Thranduil, the only one who could heal her tragically torn heart and redeem her broken soul…

See? It sounds horrible already. ;) Of course, it's a parody, so it doesn't mean that he falls hopelessly in love with her, as it would be in a real Mary-Sue. More like he thinks she is completely insane (she's a Mary-Sue. Duh.) and avoids her at all costs, resulting in a lot of misunderstandings and maybe even a bit of humor.

Ah, yes, the required entreaties for those ever-elusive reviews. So, please tell me what you thought! And, of course, if you notice any mistakes (blatant canonical inconsistencies, grammatical errors, etc.) please tell me. I'm definitely not perfect, but I want to make my work as good as it can possibly be and would heartily welcome any advice that you could give.


	9. Chapter Seven

I'm really sorry for not updating in such a long time. To be honest, I really didn't want to write this chapter. And then there were tests and speeches and essays and multiple family road trips... however, that is no excuse at all, and I will try to update sooner with the next chapter.

So I decided to reread those earlier chapters and cringed at what I have written. I cannot believe that I had the nerve to publish something like this. Besides being rather Mary-Sueish in the descriptions of clothes (why on earth did I do that?), the chapters have no cohesiveness and sound more like a series of one-shots than an actual story. And then I inexplicably felt the need to add a ton of OCs that were not integral to the story in the slightest. To be honest, the writing was just clumsy in general. Not that what I write still isn't, but I'm working on it. Hey, acknowledging a problem is the first step to solving it, right? Someday, I promise, I will rewrite them. But for now, I'm working on fixing those issues in the ones to come. Anyway, thank you guys so much for all the reviews last chapter! If you have stuck with me thus far, or if you even clicked on this in the first place (and at this point, I'm starting to seriously question why anyone would), you deserve a shining gold star. I read each and every one of your comments, usually multiple times. They truly are what made me start writing again (disregarding all that Newton's First Law nonsense). You guys truly are the best! Especially all the people who review weeks after I've last updated. It helps. It really, truly does. Not that I'm not grateful for any reviews I can get, but the little ones that randomly pop into my email inbox make my days that much brighter.

Flashbacks are in italics, as are thoughts. It should be pretty easy to tell the difference.

For a disclaimer, refer to the prologue.

**Chapter Seven**

_"Legolas!" Ruiwen's frightened yelp made him stop in his tracks. He turned, for a moment ready to draw the small knife he kept at his belt, only to find the very same elleth grinning madly at him._

_And just in time to be hit in the chest by a massive snowball._

_"This…. means... war!" he yelled at her retreating figure, groaning as he sat up from where the wet and mushy projectile had pushed him down flat. Calion's laughter sounded from the general direction in which she was headed. "Not fair! Two against one…"_

_More laughter._

_He rose, glaring in their direction as he attempted to dust himself off. He would be thoroughly soaked by the time he returned to the palace, he knew, something his mother would not be pleased about at all. The light was fast fading, the days having grown shorter as the year lengthened._

_He sighed. They had a considerable head start. But looking up at the boughs above, he had an epiphany. The ground was littered with fallen branches and rocks, not to mention the several feet of snow which, though they could walk on without trouble, would slow them if they were running as fast as they were able, as they probably would be. But the trees…_

_He quickly climbed up into the branches with the ease only a Wood-elf could master, running over the boughs deeper into the forest. Finally, he heard the muffled giggles of his friends, and he stopped, perched high enough that they could not see him in the dim light even if they were to look up from their hiding place in a clump of bushes._

_"Do you think-" Ruiwen whispered, but Calion cut her off._

_"We had too much of a head start. He'll be a few moments yet."_

_"Pass me another!" He hurriedly handed her a snowball, which she clutched in her gloved hands._

_"Ready?" Muffled shuffling._

_"Yes. Are you?" she whispered._

_"Yes. Hush! I think I hear something." He threw a hand over her mouth._

_By this point, Legolas had produced a small pile of snowballs, cradled on the branch next to him. He picked one up, took careful aim… and threw it as hard as he could into the back of Calion's head._

_UMPH. "Hey!"_

_"Where…"_

_"Shhh! Maybe it was someone else."_

_"Oh, obviously. A squirrel just hit you with a snowball. Or was it that thrush we saw earlier?"_

_"HUSH!" he whispered harshly, turning to glare at his companion._

_Moving to another branch, a snowball in his grip, Legolas fired again. This one hit the back of Ruiwen's cloak with an audible thump._

_"Ow!" She turned around, her eyes searching the darkness. Legolas stilled, but her gaze passed over him. "They're coming from up there!"_

_"Legolas?" Calion yelled up at the trees on the other side of the clearing. "We know you're up there! Come down!"_

_Legolas stifled a giggle, reaching for another. This one was thrown slightly off balance by his body, shaking with silent laughter, and flew just past Calion's ear._

_The elf turned. "He's over there! Quick, before he moves again!"_

_Ruiwen launched a snowball at him, but by that time he was already two trees away, preparing to fire another. Several more minutes of the snowball siege ensued, until all three elflings were panting, the two on the ground covered with snow, armed and looking about warily for any sign of movement. They had tried to even the playing field by climbing into the trees themselves, only to find themselves blinded by a flurry of snowballs, forced to retreat back into their meager fortress._

_"Over there!" A snowball flew into the bushes… only to frighten a hare, who darted away, leaving a trail of light footprints on the snow._

_Another hit Calion in the chest, dousing him with white powder. "When I get my hands on you, you spoiled princeling…" he growled menacingly, which only served to make said princeling shake with laughter. What happened next would be relived so many times that later, Legolas would berate himself for ever daring to engage in the ill-fated snowball fight._

_Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, half-Silvan elf, lost his balance and fell out of a tree._

_All three of the friends were so surprised by this turn of events that they simply stared at each other for a moment, Legolas somewhat stunned by the short fall, but more so because the realization dawned on him that he would never, in all the long years surely ahead of him, be able to live this down. With a shriek, both of the other elflings launched themselves at the prince, whose eyes widened as he attempted to scamper away in time to avoid their murderous glares, and a snow-wrestling match ensued._

_"Truce! I call a truce!" Legolas panted as they thrashed about, but Calion smiled wickedly._

_"Too late, my prince," proceeding to rub a liberal amount of snow into his opponent's hair._

_"Stop!" Ruiwen giggled at the comical spectacle as Legolas attempted to both fend off Calion and brush away the already-melting snow that dusted his golden locks. This made Calion turn to look at her, and Legolas pressed his momentary advantage, throwing himself bodily on top of his friend so he fell face-first into a nearby snowbank. Ruiwen only laughed harder as Calion sat up, wiping away the snow that stuck to his features like a mask. Legolas took one look at his friend before bursting into laughter, which only served to make Calion glare at them until after a few moments, he in turn smiled, then collapsed into giggles just as uproariously as the other two._

_"We-" Legolas stopped, trying to become serious enough to speak. "-we should… we should go back. It is late."_

_"How will we get inside the palace?" Ruiwen's voice brought them all up short, and they stared at each other in contemplation. All three were coated in snow, Ruiwen's formerly blue cloak crusted in white. Legolas' tunic was splattered with the stuff, and Calion's hair was already dripping. Of course, this only served to make them burst out laughing again._

_After a few more moments, Legolas spoke. "We'll have to sneak in."_

_Calion snorted. "We're rather conspicuous, don't you think?"_

_"True." He sighed. "I just hope Naneth is busy."_

_The three trudged back to the palace as the forest dimmed around them, jesting merrily. The guards admitted them with raised eyebrows, their usually stoic faces touched by faint, indulgent smiles at the antics of the trio._

_"'Bye," Legolas said once they were inside and out of earshot of the four sentries, trudging down the great hall, a trail of snow in their wake. "Another boring feast tonight." He wrinkled his nose. "I have to leave before Naneth comes looking for me."_

_"'Nana said that we're not going," Calion said._

_"Neither am I," Ruiwen said. "Ada has to leave for Rivendell tonight."_

_Legolas sighed. "Play again tomorrow?"_

_Calion grinned. "Of course."_

xxx

"Hush!" Limlind held up a hand. "We near the camp." The high, craggy face of a gray cliff rose up before them, the flickers of orange light and occasional raucous sounds of an orc camp reaching them from their position.

Legolas dismounting and turned to the party, barely visible in the darkness. They stood, looking slightly haggard, the deep snow around them glittering in the pale light.

They drew lots for the horses. "Calion and Baranir stay," he whispered to the group, huddled around him.

Calion rolled his eyes. "Naturally. We finally see a real battle, and I am left behind to herd the horses?"

They all smiled grimly at that, but he sombered.

"It is sheltered here; you must scale the cliff. Not even orcs would dare to retreat by this path. I will guard them alone."

"I do not think that would be wise," Legolas whispered back. "One guard is not enough. There must be two for so large a party."

Calion sighed. "I will be be bored out of my mind as it is, and I willfully relinquish the one source of entertainment, however meager, I might possess! You are worse than a naneth, Legolas. I will be fine."

Legolas rolled his eyes. "It was the horses I was worried for."

"We must depart," Ruiwen whispered. "Come! The night wanes."

"Very well." Legolas nodded at Calion. "But take care not to attract the attention of the others above. Losing the jester would be a grievous turn events."

Calion rolled his eyes. "To that, I will deign no retort."

Legolas motioned to the others, loosening his knife in its sheath, and they started toward the cliff, carefully scaling the nearly vertical rock face in silence. Once Luiniel slipped, dangling by only a hand for a few torturous seconds, but Legolas caught her arm before she could fall. It was no more than thirty yards to the top, and as they neared the crest of the hill he perched on a narrow ledge, whispering down at the others. "Once you reach the top, there are tents. Prepare to fight as soon as you make it over, but be quiet until all have climbed up. Then we will attack."

A few moments later all had climbed over the cliff, and Legolas nocked an arrow. In an unspoken agreement they began to run, passing through tents until the gleam of firelight drew near. Arrows were launched with deadly accuracy into the fray, the orcs letting out roars of pain and warning as they snatched up their crude swords to defend themselves. Legolas drew his long knife, quickly slashing the neck of one of the beasts.

He held no qualms about slaying orcs. They were foul brutes; servants of the Enemy. They were barely more than animals. But the Men he had seen on the Pelennor were different. Whenever he shot one, his arrow embedded in the heart of another, he saw Aragorn's face, contorted in pain, in place of the swarthy features of an Easterling. They were different. It made him sick to kill them.

Another fell before his knife. The others, he saw, looking up quickly before drawing another arrow, were dispatching the orcs with ruthless efficiency. With howls of agony they fell before the swords and bows of those who guarded the forest.

They should have all been dead already. _No more than thirty._

It was a trap.

From the other side of the hill reinforcements appeared, roaring as they rushed toward the Elves.

"Fall back! Fall back!" Magolion cried as the forces surged toward their relatively small party, cutting down another as he ran.

_There are too many._

"Retreat!" Legolas shouted. "Back to the cliff!"

Nocking another arrow, he began to run back toward the cliff, shooting it into the throat of another orc. The stars, beginning to fade at the promise of sunlight, shed a weak light over the treetops. He was able to make out the horses below.

Something was wrong. More of the oily black creatures, hunched, were worming their way through the trees toward the horses.

He could not call out, to warn Calion, or they would see where he was.

They would not make it in time.

Behind Calion, an orc raised a sword, the wicked blade gleaming in the torchlight. "No!" Legolas shouted, sprinting toward the other elf.

He stared down, disbelieving. He felt numb. His limbs moved heavily as he swung his knife, cleaving another head, his ears rang. His vision seemed to slow, as if he were in a dream.

He turned back just in time to watch numbly as the sword pushed itself through Calion's chest, the tip, red with his blood, emerging from the other side. The Elf drew in a sharp breath, falling to his knees. His blade dropped from his grasp. Blood dripped onto leaves laid bare by light that had somehow crept through the thick covering of leaves. The sound seemed inordinately loud to Legolas' ears.

Another orc was in his path, and he thrust his knife deep into its side even before it turned. He kept running. An arrow embedded itself in the throat of an orc to his left, and he absently noted that the fletchings were not his.

He jumped. Somehow he landed, miraculously unhurt, in the deep snow, and he ran until he reached the other elf.

"Calion-" He began to frantically draw the elf's arm over his shoulders.

"No." Calion struggled to draw breath. "Leave me. You must-" He coughed, a harsh, grating sound. "-you must go."

Legolas stilled. "I will save you," he whispered. A tear trailed down his cheek.

Calion smiled, a wan, pained expression. "I am gone."

"No! You will live, and we will return-" his voice was desperate, pleading.

"Nay. Legolas-" he coughed again, droplets of blood splattering his jerkin. "-I will wait for you."

Another tear trickled down his cheek, dropping onto Calion's tunic.

"Calion-"

"No." He raised a hand, gripping his friend's shoulder in a last embrace. "I wish for you to find-" he doubled over, the pain nearly unbearable. "-happiness. Do not grieve overmuch."

To Legolas, it seemed as if this dark night was forgotten and they were elflings again, jesting good-naturedly. A slight smirk found its way to his lips. "Still you are too arrogant. Do not think that my happiness-" he stilled, sombering, realizing what he had said.

Calion smiled faintly, painfully. "There is no need, mellon."

"You cannot leave me. Please, Calion-" another tear dripped down his cheek, and his voice trailed off, his throat raw with emotion.

"We will meet again," Calion whispered urgently.

Legolas closed his eyes, not able to bear what he was witnessing. He waited for something else, anything else.

But Calion said no more. His once-bright eyes were dull, his chest still.

There was still fighting around them, but he did not notice the cries of the Elves, the shrieks of the dying orcs, the thunk of bodies hitting the forest floor around him. He rose, wielding his knife with a silent, deadly rage that made the orcs shrink back in fear before him, even as the others cried to retreat. He did not feel the strong arms of one of the younger Elves; Magolion, maybe even Níndir, as the other dragged roughly him from the spot and deeper into the forest. He vaguely saw two of the others gently hefting Calion's body, carrying it away also. But he finally closed his eyes, succumbing at last to the searing grief that tore at his heart.

xxx

I was on the fence about posting this chapter. I wanted to make Calion's death have depth and meaning for the reader because otherwise Legolas' grief will seem shallow and uninteresting, and to do that I felt that I needed more interactions between the two, or at least some flashbacks of the time they spent together as children. I realize that you shouldn't kill off a character until you've actually developed him/her, and I don't want this to seem a juvenile story. So I had another chapter nearly written out to be inserted between Six I and Six II, but I also did not want to bore you guys too much. You have been so patient with me as I have worked my way through these last few chapters, and that is something that I greatly appreciate. This story is about Legolas and Éowyn, and I too really (really!) want to go back to that, but his death will be very important in the progress of their complex relationship as it slowly plods nearer to the culmination of my efforts. I have tried to compromise the two with the first part of this chapter. It's a delicate balance, one that I have tried to achieve. And failed miserably. So, tell me… should I rewrite this? If you think so, don't lie. I want to hear your honest opinion.

**Guest Review Responses:**

I sincerely apologize to all the guests (DT, Vanillawood, various Guests, Leah, Eowyn Greenleaf, Alyssa, Keisha, tommyginger, and Alanic) who have reviewed previous chapters and did not get responses. I have delayed doing this partially out of sheer laziness, which is no excuse at all and completely unfair to you. Also inexplicable on my part, because I love responding to reviews (if you've reviewed and had an account, you've probably experienced my long-windedness before). If you were annoyed (as you should have been), then I am completely at fault and freely take all the blame I rightly deserve. I do promise, however, that if you review now, you'll get some sort of reply when the next chapter comes around.

**Vanillawood:** I'm so very glad you liked it. Thank you for the kind encouragement. I shall attempt to do so, or at least as long as my muse decides to provide some semblance of cooperation. See, everybody else has these super-duper really hot guys as their muses (reference to 'The Awkward Adventures of Meghan Whimblesby' by FebruarySong... you should definitely check that one out if you haven't already) and I'm the one stuck with the nerdy gamer who wears huge gray sweatshirts and makes references to Skyrim all the time. He's not very helpful. Ever. I'd try to switch, but I'd probably get one even worse… and then the frequency of my posts would be even slower. ;)

**Guest (8/31/13):** 'Wonderful'? You seriously made my day/week/year/life. I'm sorry about the length, though. I assume that was a compliment, because I don't think that I'm really capable of writing anything longer without completely crashing. My goal is about 2500-3000 words each chapter, and so far I think I've stuck to that pretty well. I shall try to appease you by posting more frequently… geez, I don't know how many times I've said that, and it never actually happens. I probably should stop getting all your hopes up, shouldn't I? ;)

**Guest (9/23/13):** I'm sorry it took so long to update again. I hope Thranduil doesn't seem like too much of a jerk. He really isn't. He has a lot on his plate... I literally could go on and on about that, and I probably will later, but for now I shall (with considerable effort) restrain myself. Thank you so much for the review!

**AdalineXC:** Thanks so much for the follow/favorite! Technically you didn't leave a review, but I saw your profile name and had to ask you a very pressing question… did/do you run cross-country? Because if so, I must say that it's pretty much the best sport ever. Horseback riding is pretty awesome too (I did it for a couple of years and really want to start up again), but those cross-country runners are so sexc… Haha. I'm so funny, right? Not. Anyway, good luck with that new story! It's in my bookmarks folder to check out as soon as possible. It's really awesome that you're back on the site. :)

**Guest (10/3/13):** Thank you, thank you, thank you! I got your review after having 4 essays to write, a 5-minute speech to perform, and 3 tests to study for... all in one week. I swear, I've gotten about 4 hours of sleep every night. Seeing the new review email in my inbox made me so happy, you have no idea. I'm so glad you've liked it so far! I don't know how long that will last, so I suppose I'd better enjoy it for now. I'm glad you found Éowyn's character to be politically correct. I'm very touchy about my Éowyns, and I think I've only found two or three stories where I actually agreed wholeheartedly with how they set her up. It was sort of a given from the start how she was going to appear in my story, so I'm glad there's someone else who doesn't see me as being completely crazy for seeing her as I do. ;)

As usual, I'm begging for you to leave a review. But this time, I want to hear what you haven't liked about my story. Be honest, there must be _something_ that you didn't like. Even in my favorite stories of all time there have been elements that I did not completely agree with. So if you believe that you are doing me a service by not posting what you didn't like, that is very sweet of you (and says a lot about you as a person), but it won't help me on my path to improve my writing. If you're afraid of making me depressed enough that I stop writing, angry at you, or hurting my feelings, I shall attempt to allay your fears. I promise, none of these things will happen! Again, it's when you tell me what you _didn't_ like that I become a better writer. Don't get me wrong, I love getting praise (and am getting an enormous ego because of it) and it makes me very happy to hear that people are reading my story and liking it, but constructive criticism makes me better and that was my goal when I started writing on this site. I want to hear your thoughts! If you didn't like my story, tell me. If you do so in a considerate manner, I won't be offended in the slightest. Heck, flame me if you truly hated it that much! I've never had it happen, and so I'm kind of curious. Again, I give you free rein to critique me as much as you see fit. I want to hear your opinion. Please share it!


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